


Rainbow Flickering Soles

by Madame_Klancealot



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Anxious Keith (Voltron), Ballet, Best Friends, Competition, Cuban Lance (Voltron), DanceAU, Dancer Keith (Voltron), Dancer Lance (Voltron), Dancing Lessons, Dirty Dancing, Drunk Dancing, Everything is set in the heart of Japan, Exes, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Gay Keith (Voltron), Hip Hop, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Japan, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Slow Dancing, cliché as fuck, lots of classic tropes, lots of kpop inspiration, mentions of pidge and hunk maybe, this shit is long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 100,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22828744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Klancealot/pseuds/Madame_Klancealot
Summary: Keith loves to dance with all of his heart, but with the anxiety he has, all he can manage to dance on, is one of those dance, dance revolution arcade machines. To which he meets a boy, becomes best friends with him and loses him to moving away all within a year.But then, 8 years later, in Japan. They meet once again. This time, ready to show off their love for dance.
Relationships: Allura/Lotor (Voltron), Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I've been working some time on this one. It's far from finished, but 1/3 of the story is written. Lately, I've been posting it on my IG, but seeing how much it has grown and will continue to grow, I felt the need to post it here as well (and in case something steamy happens later, dunno yet). 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> All of the dances are mostly from my own imagination or heavily inspired by K-pop and the show So you think you can dance (I was obsessed with that show!).

_Before_

Being the new kid sucks.

Keith had been roaming all day around this dingy, no-good, ghost-town trying to find somewhere he could dance. Like an arcade for instance.

Sure, he could have wandered to the docks. The pier hardly had any folks walking along them in the evening, but Keith didn’t like dancing in the open like that. He didn’t like people watching him dance freely. He needed guidance.

He needed a game.

***

Striking a lucky find after hours of searching, Keith finally finds a place that has the game he had been looking for.

Sighing in winded relief, since the weather in this town was as cold as freaking Greenland - not that he had ever been to Greenland, he just knew it was very cold there - the wind chills through his bright-red bubble jacket, shivering on his way inside through the revolving doors.

Flashes of neon colors and vented heat bursts through his misty vision, trying to focus on his sudden surroundings. All that searching, and the bowling alley in this town was the only place that held his hidden treasure.

He scopes the place out. Looking left to find the check-in counter and the kiosk offering popcorn and slushies, then to his right and all he can see is 10 lanes and boys and girls laughing happily while throwing bowling balls. In the background he can hear popular pop songs sounding from the speakers and bowling pins being knocked down.

A bowling alley. Keith hates bowling alleys, never saw the point in calling it a sport when all it takes is throwing a somewhat heavy ball towards ten pins. But, ping-pong was a sport that doesn’t need much strength either. Hells, even chess is considered a sport. Guess it all depends on how competitive one wants to look at things.

Dancing. Now that is a sport Keith doesn’t mind being a part of. Unfortunately, he has the worst case of being too shy. If someone were to see him dancing freely to one of his favorite songs, he would instantly feign awareness and become flustered and embarrassed, his dance-routine ruined.

But with a little bit of guidance, and a casual game to help him out with his dancing; his embarrassment suddenly fades, and his confidence rises to the occasion. Therefore, in the corner of his eye, he sees it. The machine.

It’s standing all on its lonesome, lighting up brightly with neon flashing colors of the rainbow, techno songs with fast beats protruding from its speaker system and next to it he sees a basketball game, a zombie shooting game and a couple crane games; some excuse for an arcade...sad.

But, to his gratitude, it’s here and Keith’s ready to dance his heart out, walking towards the game with excited long strides. That is until his leg stays swaying in the air, his eyes almost bouncing out of his skull and his jaw clenching irritatingly when he ogles this kid hogging the dance machine.

“Son-of-a..” Keith wanders to hide by the side of the three crane games lined up. They’re a few yards away from the dancing game, and tries to find out who this stupid kid is who thought it’s his turn to dance.

Doesn’t he know how much Keith loves dancing?!

Ever since he moved to this stupid town a few days ago, he’s learned three things.

His middle school does not have a dance club  
This sad town doesn’t even have its own a dance studio  
There are no arcades around and this is the only place that has the one thing he needs to dance and improve his dancing skills

In other words, he should have first dibs. But Keith, he’s a flustered wreck and hates meeting new people. Call it social anxiety or passionate hate for people, but he does not want to march over there and tell that boy how important it is for him to have a few rounds on the dancing machine.

Besides, the boy does have a right to play, too. He was the first one to take refuge of it...but Keith, he wants to dance so bad. It’s been what? Three days since he last danced at his old home’s arcade; having a blast with his feet, feeling the rhythm sooth within his veins, sending him chills and excitement for the music. Dancing is his life, his dream, and this kid is interrupting it.

Glaring at the tanned boy, Keith catches his face. He looks about his age, maybe goes to the same middle school he’s starting at. So, 14, he settles on, the same age as Keith. A long slender nose, almost like a skiing slope, upturned at the tip. Lips a peach color now glaring a bright red color due to the games flashy lights, and eyes so blue Keith isn’t sure it’s the game reflecting that bright, vivid color.

Eyes aren’t so impossibly blue, and yet, when the boy runs away from the machine to fill his blue, glittering hydro flask, the striking blueness sticks with him.

Never say that anything’s impossible, those eyes makes it accountable for that.

Shaking away a vastness of blue, Keith focuses his concentration solely on the boy who is now putting in two quarters to start up the game.

Keith huffs out a sharp, irritated breath, still hiding and crouching by the crane games side, peering through the window. The boy chooses a song; Toxic by Britney Spears. His lips drag down in an impressed expression, then they grow heavier when he sees that the boy chooses the most difficult level.

No one at 14 is that good at dance revolution. He’d have to have been practicing non-stop to become that skilled. And yet, Keith feels intrigued, his nose now stuck to the crane game’s glass to get a better look.

The music to Toxic starts, it’s familiar high tones piercing through Keith’s eardrums, and the boy follows the arrows.

“Holy shit!!” Keith screams by the crane game, disrupting the boy’s pulsing dance sequence.

Keith scrambles over to the dance machine, falling to his knees on the bowling alleys rough carpet. “You..” He pants, trying to work his way back to his feet.

A hand grabs hold of his bubble jacket’s wrist, catching that mesmerizing glow of impossible blue. “I..what?” The boy throws a corner of his lips upwards, his thin brown brow following along.

Even up close the boy looked even more...Keith gulps, catching his breath. He breathes out slowly, now have regained his footing, staring the boy straight in his eyes with a marveled expression. “Dude, you’re so good! How - You - I, woah..”

Keith knows he’s not making any sense, but the way that boy followed the arrows, the way his feet jived along so smoothly with not one single mistake. He could become a professional dancer already at the age of 18 if he kept this up, Keith thinks, his mouth hanging slightly agaped, not sure how to unscramble his sudden jumbled thoughts.

One thing at a time.

“Name’s Lance.” Keith suddenly hears, his ears twitching as the boy’s name claims hold of him.

Lance. Suits him. Lance’s soft colored brown hair has fallen in curls past his eyes, now whipping his bangs away like he were Justin Bieber. He smiles at Keith, and Keith loses his breath again.

“I…”

“Do you always have trouble talking? You’re new here, right? Haven’t seen you around before, and everyone knows everyone in these streets.” Lance makes conversation, that smile still so toothy, still making it hard for Keith to breathe.

"Y..Yeah, I'm the new kid." But that was of no importance at the moment. Keith's blood is boiling for an attempt at- specially now that his adrenaline has him going to great lengths for once in his bashful life.

Lance's face pulls back a hair from a small startling, having Keith jumping into his face screaming, "Will you teach me how to be as good as you?!"


	2. Chapter 2

"Woah, Woah, Woah. Hold ya horses, new kid." The boy has his hands up in a _slow-down_ gesture, and a mischievous glimmer casting from his - _Lance_ , his name is Lance, eyes.  
  


"First things first. I didn't hear a _please_ in that plead of yours and I never caught’ya name. Introductions are super important if we’re gonna build a master/apprenticeship relationship."   
  


Keith feels his jaw unhinging, swearing there's a creak splitting his hearing.   
  


_Is he serious?_ Keith sounds off a scoffing guffaw at these ridiculous commands. First of all, to quote this heinous jerk, Keith _did_ put a courteous ‘will’ in his what this scumbag had the audacity to call his proposition, a plea; all he wants is to fulfill his dream and he knows that this jerkface can help him along the way.   
  


Unfortunately.  
  


"Listen here...uh-" Keith can't call him _old kid_ since they're the same age, he assumes, but what do you call people who've lived in one place for a long time? At least longer than Keith, that is. "Uh- _Jerkface.”_ Keith settles on, fists bunched, and flicking his gaze from the machine throbbing rainbow lights then back to this haughty boy’s blue, blue eyes.  
  


He tries to calm his insides as his gaze is a little too settled on that calming, waving ocean tempting him to take a dip; he had power in those irises. Both cunning and alluring, the worst kind out there.   
  


Keith sniffs, judgingly, “Either you have a stinking bad personality, or you've seen way too much _Star Wars_ .” He winces when the boy gasps dramatically, but Keith just rolls his eyes back at him, “I would like to see ourselves as equals in this dance relationship. I _love_ dancing. I need to dance on that machine…” Keith has one of his fingers outstretched and pointing towards the dance machine, his heart racing for the want to dance on it, then sways his arm so that the finger is pointing straight in the middle of Lance’s face. “...problem is, there is only _one_ machine in this sad excuse for a town and all I know is that _you_ and _I_ have to share it…”  
  


His finger is still slotted between Lance’s eyes, hues of blue going cross eyed staring down Keith’s pointed finger. Pop music is still blaring from the speakers in the alley, bowling pins are being knocked down all the same meshed together with kids screaming their joy of winning, or groans of losing.   
  


Too focused on his surroundings, Keith snaps out of it when he hears Lance’s answer.  
  


"Nope." Lance chimes, cooly, his hands planted heavily and all bossy on his narrow hips.   
  


Rage pumps from the bottom of Keith's soles. "What!?" He bites down on the word, harshly.   
  


Lance starts counting fingers. "I've lived here longer. I'm good, like _really_ good and you know that, _and_ I _too_ love to dance and need this machine. Probably not for the same purpose as you...And, since you so want my help to improve-" That glimmer suddenly intensifies like he has an idea.   
  


Lance digs into his jeans pocket, fishing out two shiny quarters. "Tell you what. If you can beat my high score on _Toxic_ , I'll go along and teach ya my ways, hell, I’ll even treat ya nicely." He made it sound like it was the best idea known to man, hurrying through the dance menu pressing down lightly on the yellow button till the two of them hear the familiar pitches of Ms. Spears’ _Toxic_.   
  


Fine. Keith will show this boy exactly what he’s made of. Cracking his knuckles all satisfied and ready, Keith hops onto the dance machine. It feels good when the soles of his feet press down firmly on the dance machine’s pad. Keith is wearing his favorite burgundy colored Chuck Taylors, all worn out with the strings flayed, they’re his favorite for a good reason, he’s denied ever buying or receiving a new pair until his current pair isn’t wearable any more.   
  


Bouncing a couple times on the balls of his feet, pulling on his feet behind his back, one at a time to stretch, he gives Lance a tug at his lips, sending both his brows up like he was saying: _hold on to your socks.  
  
_

One might think: Why does Keith need guidance if he knows he can beat this kid’s high score? Well, it is to prove a point that he for sure can dance and that he has a huge passion for it. To add, Lance was being too provocative with Keith. He knew for a hard fact that _Toxic_ was the easiest song to dance to, even at a master level. Although, Keith hasn’t ever won the master level flawlessly.  
  


Yet, that is.  
  


He makes a hard swallow, pulling in a deep breath. _Toxic_ starts playing, no time to look back at Lance to see if he were paying attention to Keith’s dancing because Keith _knew,_ from the restless jitters in his bones, that Lance was watching. From one dancer to another, the art to watch another dancer’s passion was the way to improve, the way to feel those vibrations flow and flood into your feet and give you that push, that competitive rush to prove to other dancers, that you too, you love to dance.   
  


Keith would go to any lengths to improve his dancing, to free himself from the constraints of being embarrassed when others watched him dance. He knew he was good. He _is_ good at dancing, but having anxiety killed that want to show off to others. To show others how much dancing made him happy. He needed to break that spell, and if this boy’s wicked skills, his feet gliding like they were walking on water, Keith wanted that too; he wanted to feel like flying when he danced.   
  


He wanted to feel free.   
  


The first set of arrows show up on the screen. Master Mode is difficult, like trying to perfect the croquembouche on Masterchef difficult. He needs to elevate, elevate, elevate. One foot presses down on an arrow, then another. Then the song speeds into a remix and his feet start living their own life. The life of dancing, and all Keith can do is smile from ear to ear enjoying every second of it.   
  


Riveting, his feet start tearing through the game and Keith is drifting into ascension.  
  


His feet fumble from time to time, trying to get all of the arrows while they zigzag on the screen. Keith jumps with both his feet; in crisscrosses, twirls and single step sequences all in one go. He’s doing it, not perfectly, though he is hitting all of the arrows but his response from the screen isn’t giving him _perfects_ , but _greats-_ he needs those _perfects_ . Still, all he has to do is beat this kid's score, and by doing so he has to jump into _Keith-vision_. He has to tune out all of his surroundings.  
  


Forget the lanky kid with the long legs and stupidly blue eyes, forget that he’s in this depressing bowling alley; he tunes out all of the annoying, unnecessary noises prisoning him; like kids laughing, the cringey videos that show up when you bowl a strike or a gutterball.   
  


Everything turns into white noise and all Keith can hear is the sound of Britney’s voice. Then his feet become all the noise he needs to hear. 


	3. Chapter 3

“Lance..”   
  


Keith is holding a box. It’s a shoebox with a star logo stamped onto the side. “You didn’t have to-” He’s already on his way unboxing the shoebox while he’s talking Lance out of giving him a birthday gift.  
  


Too late, Keith is definitely, no questions asked keeping his birthday gift.  


Lance’s smile is soft on his face, his blue eyes shimmering happily when Keith meets with him holding up a pair of brand new burgundy Chuck Taylors. “I- _Dude_ , I don’t know what to say...this brand is like so expensive, I coulda gotten my mom to buy me a new pair-”   
  


“Don’t sweat it, mullet. Your old pair, in my opinion, has been deemed undanceable. Hell, I’m impressed they’ve lasted this long-”   
  


They were back in the bowling alley, the dancing machine waiting patiently for them to rock its world with their awesome dancing. It had gone almost 6 months since Keith moved to this town, hating on everything and everyone in this place. But luckily, he found this kid, dancing his heart out on the machine glowing its vibration of colors and music next to them.   
  


Keith hated birthdays, they reminded him too much of his father. So whenever his birthday came around he would repress the day and forget it ever existed by dancing in his room, or closing his heart within an arcade with noisy kids and machines taking up space in his head.   
  


Alas, Lance danced into his life, and this is the first time that he didn’t mind being reminded that he was now a year older. 15. In three more years he can apply into a dance academy, become one step closer to his dream of professional dancing.   
  


These past 6 months had done wonders on his anxiety.   
  


Blossoming a ray of warmth on his lips like a happy sunflower, Keith plops down on his butt, an arrow lighting up magenta when he hits it, pulling off his tattered, old shoes. “I love them.” He exlimates with gratitude, wiggling his feet side to side when they’re all snug and slotted perfectly on. Red was his dad’s favorite color, so it instantly became Keith’s favorite color, to remind him of his hero; of the person who inspired him to follow his dream.   
  


“I’ll take extremely good care of them.” Keith then declares.   
  


Tingles shoot from the tips of his fingers when Lance catches his hand to pull him back up. For a brief second, one that felt longer than time itself, they stop and stare. Oceans crashed endlessly in those nuances of blue and bespeckled green, Keith couldn’t tell the opposites of left and right. Lost at sea, he thinks whenever he dives and is drawn into a compelling stare by Lance.   
  


Not a day has gone by where the two of them weren’t dancing. Be it by machine, out on the docks or in their school’s parking lot. But thanks to his new best friend, Keith’s anxiety was slowly but surely evaporating; the power of dance forcing its way into his feet, up the encouraging path to his heart.   
  


Lance’s happy smile turns down meekly. Something’s wrong, Keith can read it by the look of his expression. Usually always so chipper with a non-stop running mouth, Lance is quiet, a little too quiet for comfort.   
  


“What’s wrong?” Keith asks, a line of worry forming between his brows.   
  


Throwing his hand like it’s nothing, Lance shakes his head, digging furiously in his pocket for change. When two quarters glint in his vision, he ignores Keith’s question and pushes them into the money slot.   
  


“How about a dance?” Lance replies, but a tinge of sadness is still present on his face, in the way his feet are sliding over each other, one white Adidas kicks grooming the other.  
  


Something is definitely wrong.   
  


Keith plays along, hopping onto one machine. To note, the two of them nagged forever to get one more dance machine at the alley. The manager, who’s a good friend of Lance’s older brother, Marco, he made a few deals, and voila!, now there were two dancing machines. Perfect to go neck and neck with each other as Keith and Lance were usually the only kids who super glued themselves to the machines.   
  


“Listen up, Lance.” Keith throws out, anchoring on to Lance for his attention.   
  


Curiosity piques Lance’s interest, angling his head sharply to the side asking for Keith to go on. His lips are spread up to one side, hands always stitched to his hips with a slight hip bump up in the air.   
  


Classic Lance position, his whole demeanor shouts with a-come-at-me-with-anything-you-got...mullet.  
  


Pulling in a sharp breath, Keith shouts over the fast beating techno music, “If I win, you have to tell me what’s up!”   
  


“And if _I_ win!?” Lance counters, firing with a glare, reading Keith reading Lance. He doesn’t look happy because he knows that Keith's caught him red handed knowing that something was wrong.   
  


Thinking long and hard, Keith speed-runs through their relationship over the course of the past 6 months. Feels like they’d been friends a life-time. Starting in Lance’s class, walking home together everyday, Lance teaching him his personal tricks and strategies on the dance machine, singing their favorite songs awfully pitchy while they make up new free dances.   
  


Movie nights were always Keith’s favorite nights. Him and Lance would build forts made out of all of Lance’s blankets and his huge cushion collection, stuffing their faces with ice-cream and m&ms till they felt sick while watching their favorite dance films, like _Dirty Dancing_ (Lance’s fave) or _Step Up_ (Keith’s fave).  
  


Internally, and diabolically, planned, Keith chooses when Lance isn’t paying attention slamming his hand quickly on Lance’s favorite dance song. The time of our lives shines on the screen and Lance’s blue eyes dance with his whole body showing off his gratification toward Keith.   
  


For some reason, Keith’s whole body short-circuits. His feet feel heavy, usually always light on his feet, and his heart has climbed into his ears pulverizing his skull. Unexplainable, but Keith blinks rapidly to shake off the unexpected feeling and goes back to concentrate on their little challenge.   
  


“If you win..” Keith shouts again, his voice cutting through Dirty Dancing’s anthem, “I’ll go along with marathoning _Star Wars_ with you..” Regret instantly cradles his expression, closing his eyes as soon as Lance whoops with his hands flying sky-high.   
  


6 months. He made it 6 months getting out of not watching Star Wars. Any of the anthologies. The prequels, original, the sequels; even the side-stories or that new show; Mandalore Man? Lance tried to convince him to watch that one when he showed Keith a photo of this really cute baby green asparagus alien thingy. Sure it was cute as heck, but not enough to persuade Keith to hyper jump into space.   
  


“Holy crow, you are not going to be sorry, mullet. We’ll start with the prequels, cuz they’re mediocre, then you’ll finally get to meet Han Solo, my favorite character ever! And then when you meet Poe and BB8-” Lance makes idle chat all animatedly while they both settle into the game.   
  


Midway through the game, they’ve both become breathless. This song is slow, yeah, but the remix is fast as a cheetah, specially on master mode. Keith darts his eyes to the score still heavily focused on hitting all the arrows, now twirling thrice trying to smother an oncoming headache.   
  


Close. Their scores are gaining in on each other, almost like a Looney Tunes episode of Wile E Coyote and Road Runner. Tempo on a rise, their feet go on a bouncing spree, hands waving around like crazy. Lance is lost, as is Keith. Lost in their own bubbles of dancing, Keith doesn’t care if he loses, he just loves being lost in the moment, together with his best friend.   
  


Last segment of arrows, Keith inspects, sharing a determined glance with Lance. Time stops in that moment, Lance looks down at Keith’s new kicks, sending him a thumbs up then hops his bottom on the support rail behind him kicking both his legs up in the air.   
  


He’s limber, Lance, those legs are longer than any daddy long-legs, but his feet didn’t touch the pads, indicating that he’s down a few points and Keith’s score has surpassed his.   
  


“You did that on purpose, bone-head!” Keith screeches disappointedly at Lance when the song is over, lightly bonking the back of his head.   
  


Lance's lips are slid to the side, face craned away not to catch how furious Keith is. Everything has to be fair. No cheating, and no backing out once a challenge is made. If this were a real dance competition, Lance wouldn’t have given up those points. And if they were both aiming at becoming professional free dancers, they needed all the training they could get. Not only that, they both had to have a heart filled with love for dance, but also a mind-set always ready for a fight. A fight determined to win.   
  


Lance sighs, his shoulders slumping low, almost like they’re ready to dig into the ground. “I know. But I needed you to win, mullet.”   
  


Not that Keith ever minded being called mullet, but Lance had been using his annoying nickname a few too many times. Whenever he were nervous, mullets would be flying everywhere. It was Lance’s tell.   
  


“Spit it out then..what’s going on in your head? You thinking about quitting?” Keith jumps to conclusions before Lance is given a chance to explain himself. “You found someone else worth dancing with, more than me? A new best friend?”   
  


It had been a while since Keith felt the stinging pricks of his anxiety. Now it was needling its way back into his stability, trying to push him off that pedestal he’s been balancing on.   
  


“Well!” Keith shouts as Lance pulls back harshly for a beat, his arms now crossed, hips pushed sharply to the side.   
  


They loosen, his arms, falling soundlessly to his sides. Warmth blazes through Keith’s red hoodie, staring down at the brown hand digging into his skin, stopping when they meet bone. “I-” Lance starts, his mouth moving on its own without more sound coming out.   
  


He bites down, swallows like there’s a lump in his throat. Looking tortured, Keith maybe thought someone had died in his family, feeling bad about the way he was treating Lance.   
  


“I’m moving.” Lance finally breaks out weakly. 


	4. Chapter 4

_“How come you love dancing so much, Keith?” Lance asked, curiosity flowing loosely like question marks painted in expressional blue.  
  
_

_The question tumbled out unexpectedly, catching Keith off guard and stopping with what he was doing. He put down his pencil; a yellow nr. 2 he used while scribbling down a new dance segment for him and Lance to practice on later. As the pencil hit the table, he morphed into a thinking face.  
  
_

_Eyes squinted in thought, mouth puckered, Keith hummed with concentration on Lance’s question. All that appeared before when going into thinking mode, thinking about ‘why dance’, was_ his _face, then he shuddered. Everything in his head went back into darkened static.  
_

_"It makes me forget.” He settled on, done with the question.  
  
_

_Lance ignored Keith’s final tone. Instead, he perked up on the kitchen table, supporting himself on his elbows, then looked fondly at Keith, trying to make light of his - he knew well to Lance’s decision - odd answer.  
_

_"Forget what?”Lance then asked all nosy, not over Keith’s tone of finality on the matter; the waft of home-made cookies causing a nauseated tilt in Keith’s belly.  
  
_

_Mrs. McClain’s homemade cookies were a godsend, but in that moment of truth telling, all Keith could feel in his tummy were needles. Sharp points pricking every pushed down, repressed thought about his past.  
_

_“Everything.” He looked away, blinking back oncoming tears.  
_

_Even if Lance were his best friend, Keith hated talking about his personal life. They never went over to his house. Lance had only seen his room once, met with his mother just once. Keith didn’t keep memories, he threw them away. Rather, he kept his happy memories stored at Lance’s place, in Lance’s home. So whenever he found a token that became a happy memory, a remembrance, he would lock them up inside Lance’s home, to pull out whenever he felt down. Because being at Lance’s home, being by his side, it created that longing happiness he used to have when his dad was around.  
_

_3 months being friends with Lance, and already Keith had more remembrance than he ever had in his life. Movie tickets, a shiny shell found by the ocean, one of the buttons that broke off the dance machine; Keith kept them all stored in Lance’s room. He told him to keep them because he trusted Lance to keep them safe. But in reality, Keith didn’t have a home to give the remembrances, not when he decided Lance was home.  
_

_“What do want to do with dancing, then?” Lance pulled him out of his stupor, munching down on a gooey chocolate chip cookie; secret recipe.  
_

_He hovered a new cookie in Keith’s face, but Keith waved it away, the bad thoughts going back to sleep as the waft of chocolatey sweetness made him all dizzy, and hungry.  
_

_Light flickered on Keith’s face, his uneasy belly balancing out. “I wanna go professional. Dance for a living, keep on forgetting…” He said the last part very low, hardly made into a whisper, but Lance had sharp ears.  
_

_“Is that healthy?” Lance prodded.  
_

_Keith huffed, irritated by his friend’s nosiness. “It is for me...I’m sorry, I feel uncomfortable talking about this.”  
_

_Even if they were close, Keith hated with every fiber of his being, bringing up the past. It made his heart ache and his insides quake with a pain he hated experiencing. He knew his birthday was close, only three months away, but he hoped with all of his might that nothing happened on his birthday. He just wanted to dance the day away, forget what happened on that day five years ago. What happened to his hero.  
_

_“No worries, dude, was just wondering...” Lance said with a sorry tone, taking a new bite of his cookie. Mrs. McClain left the kitchen ruffling her son’s curly hair leaving the two of them to be alone. With that, Lance perked up with a bouncing smile, a twinkle made out of sky-blue, “Wanna know what I love about dancing?”  
_

_“Sure.” Keith returned with a shine of his own.  
_

_Lance pounded lightly on his chest twice with his free hand, holding the bitten cookie up high like it were a trophy. “I love the competition it brings.” He replied all determined, with fight in his voice.  
_

_"So you wanna go pro, too? Dance for a living?” Shock overcame Lance’s features, dropping his cookie on the table for Keith to swipe and take a bite out of. Effing delicious. Gooey heaven.  
  
_

_“Pshh, hell no!” Lance spouted loudly, like what Keith said were nonsense.  
_

_“Then what?”  
_

_“I wanna show off those stupid Asian kids who’s boss.”  
_

_Going a little too far, aren’t we, Keith thought twirling into a judging expression toward his friend, Lance’s half-eaten cookie now placed between his fingers.  
_

_“You...what now?” Keith asked, confusion lacing from the back of his throat.  
_

_Seriously, grab a pair of sunglasses, that twinkle was too bright. Lance quipped, “You know, those Japanese kids who are amazingly incomparable at arcades. I wanna show them up. Beat every single last one of those show-offs.”  
_

_“And become one yourself. Really? You dance so well so all to be able to gloat!?” Keith pushed out like this whole thing was nonsense in his eyes.  
_

_Lance dragged his lips down for a tick, tilting his head tan inch to the side. “Pretty much..” He conceded, peachy lips elongating satisfactorily.  
_

_Pressing the rest of the cookie in his mouth, Keith hollered with his mouth full, crumbs spitting out, “That’s not a realistic dream!”_

_“So!? It’s make me happy!”_

_  
The cookies finds it way down Keith’s throat.  
_

_“Lance...you’re amazing at dancing, even without the machine. You can go far with your skills. Okay, hear me out, you need to promise me something..” Keith shot Lance a hard stare, hooking him with a very sharp fish hook, one that wouldn’t release him until he actually understood Keith’s words.  
_

_Softness took over Lance, “Promise you what?”  
_

_Then softness took over Keith, his hand hesitant in the air at first, but tentatively resting on top of Lance’s hand. His glare was still hooked, boring into his friend, scared the ocean might drag him down, down, down, “That no matter where life takes you, you go pro. If you don’t like it, then quit, but at least try to go pro. You’re too good to pass up that opportunity.”  
_

_Lance hummed, contemplating Keith’s words.  
_

_“Lance!”  
_

_“Fine, okay, alright. I promise.” He smiled, never moving his hand from Keith’s.  
_

_“Spit on it.” Keith demanded, never leaving Lance’s gaze when Lance morphed into pure undulating shock.  
_

_“But then I can’t break it!” Lance whined, his mouth scrunched up angrily.  
_

_“Exactly!”  
_

_“But Keith, we’ve already spit on us getting married if we’re both single at 40...we can’t possibly override…”  
_

_Keith spit the palm of his hand, ignoring Lance’s disgusted whine and extending it at him. “Spit.”  
_

_Lance rolled his eyes, releasing an exasperated sigh, then spitting his own palm, slapping it in place, filling up the space in Keith’s palm. “Now repeat after me. I Lance Alvaro McClain…” Keith began...  
_

_In a mocking tone, Lance repeated, “I Lance Alvaro McClain-”  
_

_“Solemnly swear to keep on dancing until my legs fall off. I will go pro, and one day compete against my best friend, Keith Jonathan Kogane.” Keith continued, Lance’s voice coating over his voice-  
_

_“Wait..you wanna compete_ against _me...why not dance_ with _me, instead?” It had never dawned on Keith that they would ever become partners. To Keith, Lance had always been someone he competed against on the dance machine, aside from when they danced together on the docks. Also, he assumed the future would hold different lives for them. Still…  
_

_Keith made a bored face, “Lance...you’re interrupting, just repeat the words…”  
_

_“But, then we’ll be rivals!” Lance cut in, despair enveloping his whole body as it shook up the kitchen table.  
_

_“Lance!”  
_

_“Fine…” Lance said grumpily, then waited a second- “I forgot the words-”  
_

_Keith huffed out aggravatingly, dragging a hand down his face, then repeated the segment. Lance lit up when he finished, all set to go on. “...Solemnly_ swear _to keep on dancing until my legs fall off. I_ will _go pro…” Lance caught Keith’s stare, hesitating, but Keith was grinding into his stare. To that, Lance sighed in defeat, finishing off the segment, “and one day compete against my best friend, Keith Jonathan Kogane.”  
_

_Pleased, Keith exited the promise, “So goes the rule, never to sever or break the promise and the unbreakable bond between Lance Alvaro McClain and Keith Jonathan Kogane. Shall the unbreakable bond be severed, our promise of marrying each other when we’re 40 shall be deceased and Keith never needs to watch Star Wars, ever again.”  
_

_“Dude..” Lance complained, but Keith just raised his brows pushing Lance to go on.  
_

_Then Lance repeated the rest of the promise, squeezing Keith’s fist tightly. In a haste decision, Lance looked from side to side to make sure they were alone to then pull Keith in close to him, keeping him tightly cradled in his arms as he whispered happily,  
_

_“Look at this as our bonding moment, rival.”  
_

_Keith smiled into Lance’s shoulder. “I always will, rival.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a flashback


	5. Chapter 5

_After_

_Present day: 8 years later_

The memory from 8 years ago flashes before him like a slow-motion movie painted in technicolor. As if it were filtered in ocean blue, Keith tries to remember the popping color of his past best-friend’s eyes.   
  


_8 years_. Sometimes, Lance’s face would show up in Keith’s memories, as if burned into his saved files stored deep into his brain. They never really talked lately, Keith being too busy prepping and training for hours and hours every day for comps. And Lance. Well, Keith had no idea where Lance kept to these days.   
  


He could be in Brazil, Indonesia, Norway, South Korea; any place in the world, really. Ever since he moved 8 years ago, Lance had been moving around like no other kid. He had told Keith the day Keith forced it out of him through a dance off, Lance had told Keith that he was moving. The nerve, Keith had thought about Lance's dad's job. It was something Lance was used to, though, he explained to Keith that day. His dad had an overseas job, and Lance’s family would often travel with him, but as vacations.  
  


To their misfortune, Lance’s dad scored a long-time job that indicated his whole family to move along with him. And Lance only had turned 14 at the time, he had no other choice but to move with them. Move away from Keith.   
  


They had tried to keep in touch. The first year was easy peasy lemon squeezy. Lance had moved to Poland, a country with great internet connection so they Skyped almost every day. Sure, time zones were an issue but that was pretty much their only issue at the time.  
  


But then, they moved again, to Cuba, his father’s original home, to which it made their keep in touch situation difficult difficult lemon difficult. The internet connection there, well it proved to be wildly difficult. Since then, Lance had been permanently placed in Cuba, and as the years went by their connection faded gradually the less they could reach each other, their friendship fading along with it.   
  


Hence, in the end, Keith hasn’t spoken to Lance in 7 years, and when he at last wanted to come back in touch with him; once holding his phone in the palm of his hand with the Facebook app open and the search bar ready to type in _Lance Alvaro McClain_ , but that day, his anxiety stopped him. Pressing the home screen button and shutting off his phone, walking into the dance studio never to bring it up again.   
  


Why the memory of Lance cradling him in his arms surfaced was imminent because right in front of Keith is a bright red, 10 storey building with large letters spelling out _SEGA_ in a sign bolted to the building’s front.   
  


It was a dream come true. Keith, now a professional dancer in freestyle, finally made it nationwide, and was finally going international. Dancing his way to the top, he recently landed in the country that held his final dance comp- Japan.   
  


“Oh baby.” Keith says excitedly, taking in the hustle and bustle of Japan’s residents mingled and intermixed with tourists, kids and youths shouting about with animated chatter in the streets of Akihabara.   
  


He’s standing outside one of the many, many arcades found in this concrete jungle of a capital, all set to pour his heart and soul into the soles of his feet on one of their futuristic looking dance machines.   
  


Hoisting his bag strap over his shoulder, he makes his way inside the arcade. Sounds are filtering in his ears from every corner when he steps inside the arcade. Sound effects from the floors filled to the brim with crane games pummel through, he runs up to the next floor, more crane games, then up the next floor, even more crane games _. It never ends,_ Keith feels surprised at how many crane games one arcade needs.   
  


One foot lifts after the other on the steps, he stops up reading the sign bolted to the middle of the wall-   
**_Floor 5: Music Games_ **, he reads, smiling coyly, “Bingo!”   
  


The 5th floor is exactly how he expected. Packed to the core of the entire floor, all around him Keith is surrounded and ringed by kids and different types of music games. There’s a wall lined up with _Osu_ type games where your hands pushes on the buttons that come up on the screen pressing aimlessly to the music, sometimes needing to _whoosh_ their fingers on the screen. Another row of games; Keith sees piano games that resemble _Guitar Hero_ in game-play and the locals are _killing it.  
_

 _Lance was right._ These kids played the most difficult levels like it were like giving candy to a baby. _Monsters_ , the lot of them, Keith thinks, mesmerised in a blind-spell as he takes in each teenage kid showing off their easy-made professional skills.   
  


Not that he felt any heat of jealousy take over him. Lance’s words ring to mind again, this time, his ridiculous dream of one-upping these kids circling around like a fish in a bowl.   
  


Searching away, Keith navigates himself to find his prey. There are aisles and aisles of kids taking up space, cacophonies of 10 different kinds of music protruding from all of the games and lined up games all around him. He jerks back, stopping in his tracks when a huge crowd of local kids and tourists get in his way.   
  


They have formed a half circle, Keith telescopes past the large crowd to see what it is that was stealing their attention. He even saw the majority had their phones up, recording. This he had to see before he continued on his hunt.   
  


Pushing his way through the crowd, apologizing in their native language as he glides through them, his face pales at first. Then a sizzling warmth begins to sooth the soles of his feet, the same familiar feeling he gets before a dance. That warmth continues to simmer into a nice heat that spreads through his whole body as he catches what it is he has been looking for.   
  


Except it wasn’t what he was looking for in the first place.   
  


His eyes focus on a languid, nimble body all dressed in loose sweats; brown, honey-colored skin like the sun had been treating him well and legs for days on end; his feet are gliding on the dance pad like they were cutting through melted butter. Teeth as white as snow and a crisp blue sea threatening to already pull him in.   
  


Keith didn’t find what he was initially on the search for, but he didn’t care about that. Because he found something better.  
  


 _Someone_ better; 8 years later. 


	6. Chapter 6

The locals and tourists still have their phones up excitedly, recording the dancer’s every single move. Next to him, there are three more dance machines lined up with amazing dancers. Locals, the rest of the players and they can’t even compete to the dancer on the far end of the line.   
  


Keith’s jaw has hit the floor, still taking in how amazing the dancer is. These machines, they certainly do look like they have been sent from the far future. _Dancerush Stardom_ , Keith reads when he’s given a sliver of an opening between the crowd to take in the machines’ name. Completely different compared to the machine he’s used to dance on.   
  


This type of machine, it doesn’t have the arrow steps; it’s free from it, just one large pad where the soles of the dancer’s feet burst into colors of the rainbow wherever they step.   
  


This is the future of dance games and Keith is living for it. He wants to try one out so bad, but he also wants to gawk at the undefeated dancer with the long, long legs. They look so toned and muscled whenever his slackend, gray sweatpants curl around his thighs. Also, he has one of the legs pulled up to reveal his calf, and _boy-_ Right, Keith knows he’s a disaster gay, _such a disaster_ , but this was taking it to a whole other level and also taking a toll on his blood pressure.   
  


In the corner of his eye, one of the machines become free and the audience are still too immersed in watching the dancer go at it. So, Keith manages to snag the free machine; one machine sandwiched between him and the very aspiring dancer.   
  


His feet leap onto the pad, swirls of colors explode into fireworks under his soles and it sends chills from the bottom of his feet up to the hairs on his arms and neck. Two 100 yen coins are pinched and warmed up between Keith’s index finger and thumb, he takes a deep breath, preparing himself, sliding them into the money slot, then exhaling soundly when they both glide in.   
  


Japanese claims his hearing, and his vision as hiragana symbols fill up the screen in all kinds of bright, solid colors. Keith maneuvers his way through the menu, confused as hell, but he figures it out after lucking his way through it. Finally, a menu selection for songs pop up after he denies that he has a member card and proclaims to be a guest on this machine, creating a thin line with his lips all impatiently.   
  


All of the songs are in Japanese. He isn’t an anime guy and doesn’t listen to Jpop in his spare time. So he settles on a nightcore song by Hatsune Miku, the only artist he recognizes due to Lance never shutting up about her when they were younger, which was always weird because she isn’t even real, just this made up, cute looking projection.   
  


A vocaloid, he remembers, rolling his eyes thinking back to Lance always correcting Keith when he refused that Hatsune Miku was the best damn waifu out there. Keith still doesn’t know what a waifu is.   
  


Titled _Through the Night_ , the song immediately flows into a dancing rhythm and Keith is too startled by the way he has to dance on this futuristic machine. Nobody pays any attention to Keith, so his heart remains calm, punching his brain to focus on the steps.   
  


One foot moves, he stares at the screen. Suddenly there’s this odd sliding motion he has to do, but fails miserably at it. “Come on, Keith! You’re a pro dancer for God’s sake..” He mutters under his breath as he tries to synch his steps to the fast moving beats on the screen. A huff breaks out of his throat, getting quite aggravated by the game.   
  


He throws his eyes to the side, catching the advanced dancer still at it, too busy reeling in everyone’s _oohs_ and _aahs_ . Rivals. They were always meant to be rivals, and Keith sends a determined push to his legs and his mind, _focus.  
  
_

Eyes plastered to the screen, Keith moves his pupils with the beats on the screen, sensing a pulse in the soles of his feet.   
  


A smirk traces his lips. _Now dance._


	7. Chapter 7

It didn’t take long to learn the ways of the rainbow dance pad once his concentration took control of his body. But it could have also have something to do with song choice and level.   
  


To play it safe at first, just to get the hang of things, Keith wound up choosing an anime song he could, with some restraint, admit listening to during his spare time: _Zenzenzense_ by RADWIMPS. From the only anime movie he ever truly enjoyed; _Your Name_. Not that it was hard to forget that movie; could be the memory from when he last watched it, or that it was still burned in his head how much he cried his eyes out and never manned up to rewatch the film. But anywho, he selected an advanced level, one level under the master levels.   
  


His heart skips in step with his feet when he hears the beginning notes to the song pleasantly hum through the speakers, paying close attention to the beats on the screen he has to dance to.   
  


One foot stays planted, he learns. Then slides the other foot into the path made on the screen simultaneously tapping the free foot. This is a whole other level of dancing on a machine, Keith resonates, loving the challenge it brings.   
  


He’s on fire, erupting into a new world made out of rainbow flickering soles, having the time of his life and forgetting about the locals and tourists filming the other dancers.   
  


Now out of breath once the song transitions into a faded screen, Keith turns around catching a newly made crowd curled around his machine. His mouth goes lax in surprise. He couldn’t have danced that well?   
  


Or could he?  
  


“Well, well, well- I’d recognize that mullet anywhere.”   
  


Keith’s whole body flourishes in warmth, and it’s not due to the lights on the ceiling, or the countless number of games stuffed onto this floor. No. It’s the voice that belongs to that dancer with those long, long legs.   
  


His hands quickly fly to his high ponytail, flinging his long, black hair with attitude, “It’s not a mullet.” Keith throws his eyebrows at the nimble dancer.   
  


The dancer smiles. “I wasn’t talking about your _hair_ , Keith.”   
  


Keith feigns a peppy smile in return. “I knew _that_ , Lance .”   
  


He’s really here, in Japan. How? Why?   
  


Questions pour into Keith’s head, but he doesn’t get the chance to ask Lance anything when he sees his former best friend hop onto the dance machine next to him. “Up for a challenge-” Lance proposes cooly, “rival?” He adds gaining Keith’s utmost form of scrutiny.   
  


The air grows thick with an oncoming spout between two past friends, now present dancers filled with energy and determination. Lance flips a 100 yen coin at Keith and one more when the coin lands in his palm. Both of those thin eyebrows jut up once for Keith to slide them in and get to it.   
  


Leering with an aloofness at the dancer, Keith does as silently told, sliding the two coins into his machine. “I’m a rookie, though.” Keith informs through the default music.  


Lance scoffs, “I saw ya dancing, mullet. Rookie my ass. Let’s go!”   
  


In the blink of an eye, Lance slams the big yellow button already decided on a song for the two of them to battle to. BOOMBAYAH by BLACKPINK glows up all hot pink on the screen, and Lance, he has the nerve to slam his fist a second time on the master level- level freaking 14…  
  


“I said I was a rookie, Lance!” Keith screams, a hair too late to do anything about it. He’ll just have to suck it up and dance. Dance till his heart drops. Dance till his feet say stop. Which is never. He can’t stop the beat, and the beat can’t stop him. Ever.   
  


These regulars, though, they’re like- Keith swallows hard piercing his gaze into Lance, that blooming white smile blinding through the technicolor atmosphere. Keith’s heart does a double skip this time, sure that the Earth has turned on its axis. Gravity what now?   
  


He shakes his head back into the arcade, beating himself up to get ready to dance against Lance. Just like old times. God, he’s so happy, so thrilled and excited. He hasn’t felt this surging vibe in a long, long time.   
  


Lance is lost in his own world, hopping on the balls of his feet getting ready for the beats to slide through the screen. A glimpse of his face shoots Keith, shoots him down hard; no way is that boy gonna intimidate him. Sure, it’s been 8 years, they’re both in their 20s now- all grown up. Lance certainly is grown up- grown into his gangly body, now strong and sturdy; still tall and lanky though, but strong. This isn’t boding well with Keith’s very obvious, very disastering gayness.   
  


Not that he ever crushed on Lance. He was Keith’s best friend back when they were conniving, dance-obsessed teenagers. Keith didn’t have time for crushes, he was too busy building his body and beating his anxiety to become the crusher. Become the destroyer of all dancers- be the best of the best.   
  


He swings his head to catch a new glance at Lance. It’s easy to see that Lance still loves dancing. The twinkle in his eyes all blue and vibrant, more enhanced and emphasized than the color popping beneath their feet. That smile covering his entire face, infecting Keith and everyone circling them.   
  


Music slithers into Keith’s being. He jolts awake, crashing back into the arcade, and zaps back to the screen in front of him. He gets to dancing. Him and Lance they’re in sync already, their feet doing the exact same moves at the exact same pace and moment.   
  


But something’s off. Keith’s heart is skipping, yeah, but it’s fluttering too- into his ears, his throat. Pumping an unfamiliar, kind of nauseated conviction, inheriting every single nerve in his body. It’s intense, this sensation, and it’s only happening when he’s looking at Lance.   
  


Lance spots Keith staring, and yes, his eyes are cemented onto Lance. Cemented to his feet jiving, his hips swaying, his eyes waving. All amused by Keith’s unperturbed gawking, Lance throws Keith a crooked smile, going from his sideways running man and transitions into spreading his thighs in a wide gap and dipping low with his back side and slowly gliding back up, his back nicely arched, all in one go, and not one single beat in the game is missed. He still has an ongoing streak.   
  


And it’s obvious that Lance wanted Keith to look at him.   
  


Look at all of him.   
  


_That monster._


	8. Chapter 8

They’ve retreated to a quiet, idyllic and cute fashioned café. A pancake café, called _Happy Pancakes_.   
  


Fluffy, jiggling, enormous in size pancakes slide onto their table; a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream gradually melting on the side.   
  


Lance is nursing a cup of matcha tea, and Keith feels too jittered by his black coffee. Sparks of igniting his fingertips, he doesn’t know what to do with them. Drink for coffee? Take a bite of those delicious, fluffy pancakes?   
  


“You’re stalling, mullet.” Lance wakes him up.   
  


Keith furrows his brows, narrowing his eyes at Lance. His past best friend, Lance. The boy who taught him the ways of dance; what it has to offer, all the love it brings to his feet, and his heart.   
  


He grabs his fork and knife, ignoring Lance and cutting a piece of the fluffy pancake. Eggy, delicious, melting on his tongue- a small moan erupts from his throat, tingles of heat pricking his cheeks. Dammit, his pale complexion is most certainly going to rat him out.   
  


“Mul-let.” Lance sing songs, waving his pancake punctured fork in Keith’s face.   
  


Answers. Lance wants to discuss Keith’s reason to being here in Japan. Keith would very much like to know why Lance of all people, the boy he hasn’t seen in nearly a decade is here, too; and in Japan of all places in the world.   
  


Lance’s annoying sing-songing gets lost in the aromas of maple syrup and hot beverages, but it’s enough to bubble his aggravation, “Yeah?” Keith jumps to Lance’s perception, their eyes flickering some kind of sensical emotion, “I’m still here..”   
  


“Righty-o. So-” It’s funny seeing Lance a lot older, but still acting like the same old eccentric 14 year old Keith remembers, “it’s been a minute, huh, mullet?” Lance says with a charming grin, tapping his fingers to the beat of the song playing in the café.   
  


Keith takes a new sip of his black coffee. Rich in taste and roasted beautifully - the warmth glides down his throat smoothly. He releases a long, satisfied exhale, catching Lance’s admiring gaze, “8 years, yeah.”   
  


“Yeah.” Lance breathes.   
  


A moment passes by, their studious gazes taking each other in. Keith spots tiny specks of intense green floating around Lance’s splash of bright blue-Keith grows rigid, “You never called- never texted. Our friendship-” he pauses, Lance remains quiet, completely still. “It just faded away…” Keith completes, never breaking eye contact.   
  


“Yeah.” Is all Lance chirps out, raising his brows sprucely, but Keith senses a hint of hurt in there, a plea for remorse- forgiveness.   
  


Frankly, Keith did have an equal amount of blame in their dissolving friendship; he was well aware of that. But someone had to say it first. So to make light of the murky air around them, he flashes Lance a reassuring, soft smile.   
  


“But, we’re here now.”   
  


With great release, all tense shoulders fall down in relief, “That we are.” Lance tugs up into a crooked grin.   
  


Suddenly, Lance’s whole demeanor shifts- He swings a long leg over his thick, muscular thigh, leaning over his elbows on the table, getting all comfortable and close to Keith. Aromas of sandalwood and bitter matcha tea slams into him, “Now. Get gloatin’, mullet-” And then Lance leans back into his chair, pursing his lips like he’s ready for a blow.   
  


Too obscure on Lance’s sudden shifting demeanor, Keith just elevates a single thick brow, taking a large bite of his eggy pancake, “I have no idea what you’re on about-” He states with his mouth full.   
  


For good measure, and in all typical Lance-ness, he heaves both his thin brows up in surprise almost surpassing his hairline; those baby brown curls hiding them. In disbelief, Lance counters, “Come on, I know why you’re here! You did try to look for me after all, bet you talked to the league peeps or your coach navigated-” He keeps rambling on about the comp society, the very same one that brought Keith here- after winning the semi-final.   
  


Keith throws up a pausing hand, shutting Lance up, “Hold up- How do you know about the league? How do you know the people who run the comp I’m competing in? Aren’t you here for vacation, or, does your dad work here now?”   
  


Trying to connect the dots, but the dots are nowhere to be found, Keith thinks this is all too good to be true. It can’t be, can it?   
  


Lance doesn’t answer Keith right away, instead he has that smug face which always riled Keith up when they were younger, egging him on for a new dance-off between the two.   
  


It all crashes into Keith, “Alright, let me get this straight-” Lance starts. Keith snorts to himself when the word falls from Lance’s lips, cause he’s so gay it’s not even funny, “So you’re saying-” Lance pauses, again, almost for dramatic effect, Keith thinks, but his eyes are wild, turning turbulent, “you didn’t know I’d be at the arcade, that you being there at the same time as me was just faith bringing us together?”   
  


“A little too much calling it faith, Lance, but yeah-” Keith sounds exasperated, his head is spinning round and round. Lance knew he was coming to Japan, but keith had no idea the kid walked these traditional grounds. Granted, it’s obvious that Lance still loves to dance and all that, and he did state that he wanted to go up against these monsters- and if he’s interested in dancing, then that has to mean that he picks up a tabloid once in a while and reads about different comps going on in the world.   
  


But. But, Keith was sure that Lance had cut him out of his life since, well, since he never tried to reach out to him, regain contact after high school. All it took was just a simple search and voila! best friend in the lost and found basket. Simple as that.   
  


‘Cept it’s not as simple as that. They were, still are, in two completely different worlds. At least, that’s how Keith perceives it.   
  


Keith’s jaw moves on it own, all animatedly as if he’s trying to cough up any explanation about the 411 on his business in Japan. “I- I won the semi-finals of the Jump State Dance-a-thon. It’s this international dance league that’s been held all over the world. The finals here, in Japan- in Tokyo. So, I’m here to dance against the other finalist.”   
  


“And you don’t know who the other finalist is?!” Lance looks simply dumbstruck, like someone slapped him silly and called him Oprah. “Keith, lemme get this straight, too- cause like, this seems way too bizarre that you have no idea who you’re up against in the final! Are you honestly one of those dancers who shut out all competition against you? Like you don’t pay attention to any of the other dancers; your rivals?”   
  


“I don’t have time to rile up my anxiety, Lance.” Keith grabs at his jacket quite aggressively, giving Lance a bothered face, “If I see the other winner’s dance-routine, I’ll spiral- I get nervous, my mind wanders to comparing myself to the other dancer- All I need is concentration. Focus. I am my own coach, only I can dance past the fright…” His jacket is crumpled up in his clenched fist, he's also breathing quite heavily. He didn’t want to go that far today, especially with an old friend whom he’d rather catch up with than talk about his job.   
  


What he tries to fling at Lance still doesn’t get to him, though. He still has this obscure expression, one made out of pure undulation, “Well-” Lance starts, they still have some food left on their plates, Keith releases his choking jacket, ready for Lance to bring it, “I just think you should know who you’re up against-”   
  


“But, Lance, I just said-” Keith bites back his words as Lance holds up a warning hand.   
  


“As I was saying, it might spark up some kind of newfound motivation.” Then he stops talking, going back to his usual chipper self all smiles and all eyes- ugh, just looking at him is causing Keith’s insides a minor earthquake.   
  


Even if his words do get through to Keith, he knows that it won’t help his anxiety. He’s used _years_ to come over it- at times he still feels like he hasn’t even come fully past it. Some circumstances have occurred where Keith needs to run as fast as he can and hide in the dark, sob his troubles away and dry those unwanted tears like nothing was wrong then dance. That’s the only answer, the only remedy to his inconsistent anguish. Dance.  
  


He nibbles on his lower lip contentiously. Even the air has dropped a few degrees, slinging on his red jacket to hide the stupid chills drilling into him. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Lance. Not meddling into my peers’ dancing has worked out for me. I get to calm my nerves- it gives me the opportunity to comprehend myself, wholly focus on me and my dancing-” Keith casts a hard glance at Lance, “It’s worked every time. Look where it got me- I’m going to the final- I might become an international champ.”   
  


Fuck, Keith kind of regrets admitting that, the veins under his skin pumping red hot. To let it go quickly, he urges his fork to his plate, but his whole face drops when he notices that there are no pancakes left.   
  


Lance slides his plate to Keith’s side of the table; there’s a bite of pancake left bathing in syrup. A smile traces Keith’s lips, “Thanks.” He takes the last bite.   
  


“Don’t sweat it-” Lance replies.   
  


They share a quick smile.   
  


“Lance-” Keith wakes up his attention, “Wh-what are you doing these days? You still dancin’?” Keith winces, knowing he’s changed the subject drastically, asking stupid meaningless questions.   
  


Although, knowing their past relationship, Lance shrugs off Keith’s beating around the bush and sniggers, “Course I’m still dancin’, mullet.” There’s a glint in those blue eyes, rebounding into Keith’s soul, “I went pro.”   
  


Every single ray of light shines into Keith, into his dancing jumpy heart- the light’s blinding, white hot but prismed in all the colors of the rainbow. “Really?!” Keith says excitedly, slamming his hands on the table, “You did just as promised.” That last part comes out in a shy whisper, like he wanted to keep those words to himself.   
  


He catches Lance looking all kinds of confuddled. _Man, I am so gay._ “What is it? This is awesome news, Lance!” Keith’s chattering goes non-stop, like a duracell rabbit. “Lance-” Going a bit daring, his heart back to that jumpy state, he brushes the top of Lance’s hand with his fingers. It’s warm- “Maybe one day we could-”  
  


“I’m the one who’s dancing against you in the final, Keith.” 


	9. Chapter 9

“Y _-you’re_ my challenger?! Are you fucking with me?” Keeping how overwhelming this has whirled up his whole calming state has proven utterly and most deceivingly difficult. Keith is whiplashed by vertigo, like a whole ocean has crashed into him, drowning him then spitting him out for tasting like garlic knots. 

  
But he’s excited. Anger doesn’t circulate through his bloodstream, no. It’s like someone has put on his favorite song (Tik Tok by Kesha) in the club and everyone knows his routine dancing together with him, all laughs and smiles taking over every square inch around them. 

  
Holy shit is he happy. Things couldn’t have gone better than this. Hell, he’s fucking ecstatic. “This is-” Keith finally opens his mouth after much internal celebration. Lance throws on a lilting smile, somewhat pondered by what Keith is going to say about this _brand new information_ , “This is-” Keith repeats himself.   
  


“Awful, terrible, traumatizing?” Lance obliges, throwing in some adjectives.   
  


“AMAZING!”   
  


“Oh, thank God.” Lance exhales with all the relief he could gather around him. His head had been hanging low, brows furrowed exhaustingly before Keith bombed him with his over-excited exclamation, thus his head shooting up instantly sharing Keith’s excitement.   
  


Fuck him sideways, him and Lance were going neck and neck in the final. It’s really happening, just what they had spit on almost 10 years ago. _I know, gross, spit, we were kids, okay._ However the case, who would have thought? Keith had been sure that Lance would choose dance as a side hobby, and land on something professionally like whatever it is his father does, but nope, he stuck through.   
  


Keith gets to thinking; his coffee’s empty now, drained dry leaving rings of earthy colors in his mug. “So..” He squints at Lance, studying him. Lance hums in reply, he’s listening- “You knew I was coming, but you didn’t say anything- Hell you’ve probably known all this time- ever since I won- maybe right after I joined the league-”   
  


“Why’re bitchin’, Keith?” Lance bites back, a sour taste almost taking space in Keith’s throat. “I thought-” His bite turns real, jaw clenching- luckily, his lips are still curled, he looks like he’s smiling, but it’s hard to tell- “that you wanted space, Keith. Since, well, I was for sure you also knew that I was in the same league as you, too. I was waiting for any word from you…”   
  


Thunder pounds in Keith’s skull, a heated pulse for forgiveness encompassing his features. “Dude, I’m- wow- I’m sorry. Had I known you were-” He tugs on a string from his red jacket, fickling helplessly at it. “Had I known, I’d definitely contact you.”   
  


A waitress glides by cleaning off their table, Lance bows his head slightly to the waitress as a thank you articulating an ‘ _arigatou gozaimasu’,_ lashing out a blue wink at her.   
  


_Woah,_ that was- that was kinda hot. The thunder filled with regret is now replaced by a undefeated pounding beat that makes Keith’s pulse points simmer _hot, hot, hot._ He shakes off his stupid nonsensical heart flutterings- he didn’t ask for this.   
  


“Yo, it’s all water under the bridge, my man. We lived our own lives for the past 8 years-” Something is going on in Lance’s mind, like he’s speed running through a movie. God he looks good, Keith wants to run his fingers somewhere on his being. Catching eyes, a jolt rushes through Keith, “I did miss you, though, you were my best friend after all-”   
  


“Were?” Keith cuts in, stealing the smug look on Lance.   
  


“Still are.” Lance recovers.   
  


“Better.”   
  


See! They’re _friends_ gosh darnit. _Get it through your thick skull, Keith!_ He mentally slaps himself a few - a million - times. The thundering in his veins certainly needing some way to quell while he is around his former - wait a minute - his _continous_ best friend.   
  


Looking at him, Keith resolves that, _yeah_ , _sure,_ Lance has always had this pleasant looking face. Keith distinctly remembers how the girls at their school would snicker and flirt with Lance after class, asking if he ever wanted to walk home with them, to which he would casually throw a thumb at Keith plastering on that goofy smile to answer that he made a pact with Keith to walk home with him every day after school, as best friends should be doing.   
  


To this very date, Keith had been in a struggling pickle figuring out Lance’s reasoning for that. It could have been in his head, but best friends didn’t always need to walk home together after school, if Lance wanted to join the girls, he could have, but, he never did.   
  


Layers and layers of blue strike into Keith. Damn. Lance’s pleasant face never drifted away. And honestly, his pleasantness has just skyrocketed, grown into something that is causing a nice tingling feeling all over Keith’s body. Which needs to stop, right this second.   
  


But those sharp cheekbones, that long slender nose and those dusted bronze stars kissing along the apple of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, contrasted to his caramel colored complexion. It’s pounding like crazy, his heart, the more Keith studies Lance’s now grown up face. Let’s not throw our eyes below his neck, Keith swallows hard.   
  


Still, whenever Keith looks into those bright blue eyes, he’s going all _throwback thursday_ , reminded time and time again why he loves dancing - how he grew into his dance style and learned to live without that uncomfortable stinging fear, er- without _some_ fear at least.   
  


The comp is three days away. His spiking blood pressure must be caused by that, Keith resonates, as his jitters are habitating and mooching off his insides for a while longer. God, and now knowing he’s up against Lance in the final; an amazing dancer - okay amazing is a fucking understatement - who, also, is his best friend, that just gives all the confirmation to his ongoing jittery state.   
  


“Looking a little frazzled there, Mullet.” Lance says, “Nervous now that you know it is I, the great Lancey-Lance whom shall be your greatest demise at the comp?”  


They’ve both gotten to their feet, Lance slinging his blue windbreaker on like a cape as he stated that bullcrap.  


Keith tries to hold back a barking laugh walking in step with Lance towards the till to pay for their lunch. Leaving the café every single waiter and waitress, even the cooks that are visible, say their goodbyes, thanking them for staying. So, quite culturally different compared to home, Keith smiles to himself, but feels like a deer in headlights when he catches Lance with his head angled slightly smiling at Keith.   
  


Warmth climbs up Keith’s throat, settling nicely on the apples of his cheeks, sharply looking to the side to mentally fan the warmth away. Too much, way, way too much. He pulls in a deep breath, calmly exhaling. The people here are really nice and polite; so inviting and hospitable, he wants to explore more of this wonderful country, he thinks, still trying to chase away his flush.   
  


Out on the streets it’s another new world Keith spectres before him. Japan truly is a remarkable place. He gazes up and around him feeling his mind twirling with him in a wondrous daze.   
  


“This place is amazing.” Lance says, reading Keith’s mind. “I love it here. Can’t seem to leave every time Mamá asks when I’m coming back home. But this place is so full of surprises. Every corner is a new adventure waiting for me to discover, so full of mysteries- so full of love.” His eyes land on Keith’s. They break the connection quickly, crossing the street as soon as it starts chirping, the rest of Akihabara just going on with their lives.   
  


He’s not wrong though, Keith agrees. Sure, he may have sounded like such a sap, but all Keith can do in reply while they keep on walking to the other side is keep that smile elongated. Passion has always been their way of expression. For dance, mostly, but to Lance, Japan has also become a new passion for him, and it shows.   
  


Lance suddenly stops in his tracks, but he has no time to speak when his hand clutches Keith’s arm dragging him forcefully into an alleyway. “Lance!” Keith guts out. 

They stumbled upon some kind of hidden shrine in the midst of busy Akihabara, just resting here slivered between two tall buildings. It looks quaint, almost has this sense of tranquil seeping into Keith the closer they walk to it. “As I was saying,” Lance starts, “just one of Japan’s many unfound mysteries.”   
  


Keith rolls his eyes. “It’s pretty cool.” He inspects the small shrine, bending down to his hunches. It’s formed like a traditional pagoda, and there’s a small house within it- candles flickering a live flame, smoke rising.   
  


Something hits Keith as the smoke dance into their ascension to the sky, “You’re thinking about your dad, huh?” He hears Lance whisper close to his ear. Lance is hunched down next to Keith, bowing his head like he’s praying.   
  


“How’d you know?”   
  


Lance gives a light shrug. “You’re easy to read, Keith. Sure, I’ve only known you for like...a year, but we were best friends too. I learned to read you- and that face spells out daddio.”   
  


Talking about his dad never was Keith’s favorite subject. He talked about him a couple times with Lance though, when they were younger. But that was only because the annoying boy never shut up with his nagging, noisy self until Keith finally caved.   
  


“So. He finally notice you after you went pro?” Lance asks, still as nosy as ever.   
  


The smoke billows when Keith releases a sharp breath through his nose. “Would have thought so, but the guy hasn’t even bat an eyelash at me. Hell, we were even in the same room once-”   
  


“Keith..” Lance presses on his name, like he wants to say sorry for bringing him up. But hey, curiosity’s of his nature, Keith expected the question to show up sooner or later. He was prepared. Still, it hurt, thinking back to that one time he met his father after he left him and his mother.   
  


Keith waves his hand, “Don’t feel sorry, Lance. With my luck, it didn’t go as I had hoped. But is all good. I’m here, I found you- and we’re facing each other in the final! Let’s just look forward, alright?"  
  


“Yeah, sure.” Lance smiles brightly. “Oh- how’s your mom?”  


Lance had a huge crush on Keith’s mom, and he only met her once. But her beauty - Lance’s words - stuck to him like silly putty. He would never shut up about how pretty Keith’s mom is, and not that he ever got jealous, because Keith was more focused on how embarrassing it was that his best friend had the hots for his single mother.   
  


“You don’t have a shot, idiot. She’s happily married today, found this guy names Kay- he’s a police captain, really scary…” But Keith has a relieving glimmer in his eyes. He really likes Kay, he takes care of his mom, even though she could easily take of herself; she has so much spunk and bite every man and woman would fall to their knees being hit by one piercing glance by her.   
  


“Shame. But I’m happy she found someone, bet she hated that you traveled so far away, huh.”   
  


“Nah, she was the one who pushed me into the international comp- said I needed to ‘broaden my horizons’ or some kind of spacey crap. Alas, here I am.”   
  


Here he fucking is. Keith still can’t wrap it around his head that he’s in Japan, and on the other side of the world, too. It’s kind of mind boggling.   
  


The topic of his father died in flash. They were still taking in the cute, little shrine. “Hey, you doing anything later?” Lance quirks up from his hunches, stretching by grabbing his right wrist and dragging his long upper body to the side, a loud satisfied noise escaping him.   
  


“Nah. Was thinking of heading back to my hotel, rest a bit, maybe practice my routine.” Keith furrows his brows, Lance looks like an evil genius. “What are you planning?” Keith says all bored.   
  


That coy smile is all Lance, he invented that expression and it screamed that he wanted to do something wild. “Meet at Shinjuku station tonight, 10PM-”   
  


“So late?” Keith complains, he needs his beauty sleep, believable enough. He’s still beat and he knows his jetlag is going to hit him clean soon.   
  


Lance nods frantically, slapping Keith on the back, keeping his hand planted between his shoulder blades. Definitely not the time for Keith’s heart to start jackhammering again. “Course, if we’re gonna go clubbing.”   
  


“Clubbing? You wanna go clubbing?!” Keith’s never been to a club before. And to devirginize himself in Japan isn’t exactly on his itinerary. But, it’s Lance, he doesn’t know how long he’ll have with him once the comp is over.   
  


“Fine, but why can’t we go clubbing in Shinjuku? Aren’t there plenty of clubs to roam there?”   
  


“You’ve clearly never been to Japan before.” Lance chimes, but is cut off-  
  


When Keith shoots in cooly, “Seeing as it’s my first time leaving my own country, you’re absolutely right-”  
  


Suddenly, Keith is pulled into the curl of Lance’s arm, “Prepare to witness the nightlife of Tokyo, my man.” Lance preps Keith excitedly, his grin sliding crookedly along his golden face. 


	10. Chapter 10

Seeing as the final is in three days, well, two days counting it’s closing in on midnight and Keith and Lance have, per Lance's undying wish, escaped to party central.   
  


“Welcome to Roppongi, baby!” Lance presents to Keith as they make their way hastily out of the subway, beeping their Pasmo cards on the reader.   
  


Nightlife in Japan is like a whole new world; granted, daytime life is like a different world, too. But Japan at night, and in Roppongi, which has been stated to be _the_ place to go to for a night filled with drinks, happy locals and tourists, clubs and dancing. All the dancing one could ever imagine.   
  


Keith is mesmerised when him and Lance find their way into one of the most popular clubs in the district. “How the hell did you manage to get us in here, Lance?” Keith has to scream in Lance’s ear as the music is pummeling into them, thrumming every single vessel that networks through their bodies.   
  


“I have my connections, Mullet.” Lance winks. “Dancing life is pretty big here. A lot of people know who I am-”  


“Lance-san! Lance-sama!” Locals scream when they see Lance has officially arrived. To Keith, all he can hear is _Rance-san_ , or _Rance-sama_ , loving the way they pronounce Lance’s name. It’s cute. Lance is cute, looking all snazzy, thinking ahead with his attire for tonight.   
  


He’s dressed like he’s going for a night on the town, but he also looks like he’s prepared in case there’s a song calling for his legs to create a beat on the dance floor. Blue has and always will be his color; his silk shirt shining up in the blinking darkness attracting everyone’s attention; and those black slacks are tight but Keith easily recognizes the seaming; it’s a stretchy material. Oh, they’ll be dancing alright, Keith can’t keep his toes uncurled in excitement.   


Luckily, Keith thought ahead too, having packed some decent looking clothes that weren’t only training clothes for when he dances. He did pack down a couple shirts, slacks or jeans he knows he can dance in. And as a result, he landed on wearing his favorite pair of black skinny jeans paired with a fashionable long red singlet and a black loose jacket, also wearing his lucky lion necklace.   
  


Lance’s eyes sweep across Keith’s ensemble when Keith tries to dare his own sweep at Lance. An approving smile traces that bronze face. Keith mirrors him. And in Lance’s hands are two drinks, one of his hands approaching Keith. He takes the drink, lifting it to his mouth. Smells sweet, a little too sweet to his taste, but Lance always loved his sweets so there’s nothing but to drink it.   
  


Downing the cavity filled drink, Keith exhales catching Lance bumping his hips to the beat of the music. He’s yearning to get out on the dance floor, and isn’t that why they came here in the first place? “Come on.” Keith braves the space between him and Lance, “Let’s dance!”   
  


It’s like a jungle when Keith finally takes in the insides of the club. As expected, it’s dark, but there are strobing lights cascading from every corner, taking up all available space on the ceiling, beaming down in different colors of the rainbow. People have emassed into a full sea, dancing their hearts out, drinks in their hands, or their hands roaming each others’ bodies. Space doesn’t exist. That is, until Keith and Lance emerge and make their way onto the ocean floor.   
  


The sickening sweet alcoholic drink Keith downed in one go has in some way found its course through his veins, causing a nice sway in his own hips. One drink, it was one drink, he knows he can’t blame the intake of such a puny drink, but Keith doesn’t drink- well, he’s never had a reason to drink, until now.   
  


Lance has already taken the dancefloor by storm, his hips boldly sweeping a path into the heart of the ocean. He’s become the heart, golden and shining up like a crashing nebula in the sky. _Starboy_ by The Weekend starts thrumming like pounding heartbeats through the speakers, Keith’s at a loss of breathing at the moment being too swept up in the broad thrusting of Lance’s hips.   
  


He forces down a hard, very hard, swallow through his clogging throat, waving his hand twice in his face as he dances his way over to where Lance has taken his parking- his bronze face glows, sweat beads already rising along his brow, he’s still dancing, tilting his head up into a welcoming nod when Keith comes closer, closer, closer-   
  


‘ _I’m a motherfuckin’ starboy_ ’, Lance mouths the lyrics at Keith, his thin brown brows glistening now, waggling their own approving welcome when Keith has come as close as he thought appropriate for best friends to be.   
  


But in Lance’s mind, Keith’s not close enough; snaking his arm around his waist, closing the space between them. Keith lowly gasps as the sudden impact braces him unexpectedly, their hips bumping lightly against each other as Lance continues to sway his body in tandem to the music, which has now transitioned to-to Keith’s surprise- and catching the beaming face that has taken over Lance. _Dancing’s not a crime_ by PATD! has claimed the club and Lance goes crazy moving all over the place with his nimble limbs.  
  


Lance is Panic’s number one fan. No fucking lie, the kid loves Brendon Urie- almost to a stalking level, their music has a special place in Lance’s heart. ‘ _Dancing, dancing- dancing is not a crime, unless you do it without me’_ \- Lance’s hand has seized hold of the small of Keith's back, dragging him flushed against his torso. Fuck, he smells like a _Lush_ shop, nauseating Keith to the core. He can’t tell left from right, up from down. All he can gather is Lance. And that’s all he needs to gather as he’s completely lost in the moment.   
  


Their bodies bump into each other to the beat, Lance singing loudly almost straining his vocal cords as he down right screams the lyrics to the song and Keith can’t help scream with him. But, this needs to stop before something happens. Before Keith goes as far as to do something unbelievably stupid.  
  


He tries to escape Lance’s grasp, but the boy just keeps on pulling him back, both of his hands now gripping Keith’s hips.   
  


_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  
_

His nose traces along Keith's cheek, warm breath smelling of that fruity drink making him more dizzy than practicing pirouettes.   
  


“This is fun, huh, Mullet. You’re having a good time, I hope?” Says Lance, as his smooth voice cuts into Keith causing a shuddering ripple effect from his head to his toes.   
  


Keith’s breathing grows wary, rigid as it’s weighted down by the way Lance is still gripping his body, the way his revealing skin is warm against Keith’s. Powerful aromas of soap, flowers and that fruity drink dances into Keith’s brain, continuing his dizzy spin. Their eyes meet, Keith’s whole body stops in the flow of everyone around him- his ears are burning, his heart leaping in his already tight throat. Lance’s eyes are piercing, wandering, the strobing lights blinking that beautiful vibrant blue into Keith’s dancing heart.   
  


_Fuck, I’m so fucked_ , Keith screams in his head trying with all of his might to look away.   
  


But Lance’s hands have traveled from Keith’s hips up along his spine, each bumping vertebrae being pressed with fine precision by his fingertips. A low chuckle runs smoothly out of Lance’s throat, “Well?” His hands have found leisure along Keith’s jaw; it’s like he’s playing with Keith, scaring him shitless before their dance final- like he wants to intimidate him, find a way to win before it's even started.  
  


However, Keith knows Lance. He’s not like that, he plays fair. So, considering his bluntness, could it be? Lance's hands are still gracefully placed beneath his jawline, tipping his face up to meet Lance’s gaze. Reading Keith, Keith reading him.   
  


_Does he know I’m gay?  
_

Lance has come even closer with his face, running his white teeth hungrily along his bottom lip staring Keith down with wanting eyes, the rhythm of the sexy music seeping into him, taking over his whole persona as his body is now rolling hotly against Keith's front. _G-O-D_.  
  


_I’m gay! I’m gay!  
_

For Christ’s sake, just tell the boy you’re gay, he might be into you, too. But that’s the clue, Lance might not like guys, and their whole comp will be ruined all because Keith wants to make a move on him. He can’t risk that, they need to focus on their dancing. Focus wields perfection, or however that saying goes- Keith can't straight his concentration is being heavily side-tracked at the moment.  
  


He’s just so damn attractive, how did Keith not see it back then? Maybe, _maybe_ Keith has liked Lance all along, but he was too damn stubborn and too single-minded to even gather his feelings for this boy. This boy who’s riding pretty close to Keith at the moment.   
  


_Keep it in your pants, Keith…  
_

_Yummy_ by Justin Bieber creates a newfound party in the club. Everyone surrounding them wake up to the relatively new popular hit, jumping and moving their bodies like crazy. Keith doesn’t answer Lance, he _can not_ know how Keith feels for him. He just can’t it can set this whole comp on fire, destroy everything. Besides, Lance becomes like this when music is involved. He gets way too caught up in the feel of the song and turns into...well, _this._   
  


Keith has, to his luck, gotten a few feet away from the monster; his eyes closed shut feeling the sensual beats thrive underneath his skin. His pelvis moves on its own, like he’s possessed by Justin’s erotic voice. Side to side Keith’s pelvis shakes fluidly, lifting his arms slowly up in the air. The song is halfway through, and Keith, yes, of course, Keith knows the dance that’s in the music video and gets to it.   
  


As if on cue, Lance has found his designated spot beside Keith when he finally opens his eyes, dancing with him perfectly in sync just like when they danced on the dancing machines earlier today. They need more space though to dance the whole thing and the club-goers read the pair loud and clear, making room for them to show off their talent.   
  


They’re both all smiles and laughing as they dance next to each other. It’s like Lance knows how Keith is thinking all the time when it comes to dance. They stomp their feet in unison and roll their arms like Biebs does in the music video. Something about Lance has Keith body-slammed, the glint in his eyes telling him something, like they’re foreshadowing something that's going to happen in the near future. But Keith pays no more attention to that, he’s dancing, dancing with his best friend and there’s no competition involved, just the love for the beat pulsing in their veins. Hell, they’ve even managed to collect two, three other club-goers dancing with them- all smiles, all laughs.   
  


Again, Lance is on fire when he dances. His hand stretches out to Keith, asking for him to grab it. Does he trust him? Dare he take it? No time to make that call, Keith just takes Lance’s hand with no second thought being pulled into his body; it’s sweaty, he’s all sweaty but that smile blinds him more than the glisten of his soaking body. His lips are plumped, like he’s been biting at them all night wanting and waiting for one thing. One thing only.   
  


While his face nears Keith’s, all of the sounds in the club deafens and the only thing Keith can hear in that moment is his heartbeat pounding like crazy in his ears. His blood vessels are searing underneath his skin when Lance’s lips barely touch the tops of Keith’s lips, his eyelids slowly closing-   
  


_'Wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy…'  
_

_Tik Tok_ by Kesha, Keith’s favorite song comes on and Lance’s lips fly away because only one thing is on his mind now. Lance is lined up next to Keith again, bopping his head and the rest of his body to the song preparing himself, a small hop to foot himself for _the dance;_ the very dance that belongs to the game they played all year when they were teenagers, the one him and Keith can do with their eyes closed. Allowing their feet and their hearts guide them.  
  


"You tipped the DJ, didn't you, scoundrel." Keith says loud enough, his body soaring.   
  


Lance presses his lips together, the pulsating lights turning his eyes into kaleidoscopes. He doesn't say anything because there's no need, all they need is the music in their souls to bring forth the motion in their bodies.  
  


Kesha’s voice does just that. The boys share a quick flash of a giddy smile, and away they go. 


	11. Chapter 11

“Dude, warn me the next time when I choose the spiciness of this ramen.” Keith is fanning his tongue, looking like a dog panting. “It’s fucking hot!” He exclimates, then digs back into his ramen, slurping loudly.   
  


Lance smiles warmly at Keith. There had been a lot of escaping this past day, and boy oh boy, has it been a long day. A perfect day, in Lance’s mind’s eye. He could have easily created a time bubble that never ended if they could’ve continued like this.   
  


His thoughts roamed back to the club, before they left it to find food for their very hungry stomachs after have danced away those calorie heavy pancakes. They were in need of more carbs, so _Ichiran_ was the place to go, and Lance knew one nearby in Roppongi.   
  


Before they left, Lance almost did something stupid, mind-lapping really, because _thank God_ Kesha swooped in to save the day. He felt bad for what he almost did, but luckily, nothing too impressionable happened. And besides music makes him go all horndog, Keith must have read him during their intimate dancing.   
  


“Hey, aren’t you hungry? You’ve barely touched your ramen, if you’re not eating it, I’ll be happy to steal it from you.” Keith hints hungrily, his bowl already licked clean.   
  


Lance slides his full bowl of spicy ramen to Keith’s stall. At _Ichiran_ you sat in separate stalls, but you could loosen the divider walls if you’re eating with a friend.   
  


_Friend._ Keith is a friend, Lance has to remind himself over and over again.   
  


“Thanks man.” Keith says, digging in with more loud slurps. Chills run cold down Lance’s spine at the sound.  


“Not a problem.” He leans his elbow close to Keith eating, “Listen...I’m sorry for how I behaved at the club. I wasn’t trying to imply anything, like-” Where does he go from here? It’s not he has feelings for Keith.   
  


_Fuck.  
_

“Lance, don’t worry. I know what music does to you. It turns you into this whole other person, not a bad one or anything- just, _not you._ ” Keith explains, smiling.   
  


Daringly, Lance wipes away a little bit of red spice that has stained itself on the edge of Keith’s lip. Both them catch their breath. No one’s chest is moving as Lance slowly rubs the spice away with the pad of his thumb.  
  


His lip is soft, Lance keeps his thumb pressed down on the soft skin, sucking in a rigid breath as he smooths the rest of his fingers down along his jaw, replicating what he did in the club.   
  


Is this going too far again? “Lance.” Keith whispers, and instantly Lance pulls his hand back, gritting his teeth like an idiot.   
  


_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.  
_

A hurricane is working up haphazardly in Lance’s head. There is just something - has always been - about Keith. His eyes, how they sparkle like gems, his smile all soft and laid back. God, what is it Lance is feeling? He can’t explain it, and he’s tried to search on the web what these sickening sensations in his gut is whenever he thinks about this boy.   
  


Girls. Lance likes _girls_. It hasn’t ever dawned upon him that he could ever fall for a boy. No one has passed his interest, although the only boy who has ever taken up space in his mind is sitting right next to him, looking at him now with curious, sparkling eyes.   
  


“You full? Wanna hail cab together?” Lance shifts away from what just happened between them. In both their perspectives, nothing happened.   
  


Keith slurps his - Lance’s - bowl clean as well, fishing for his black jacket hanging on the wall behind them. Small, cute sniffles make noise from Keith’s nose. Behind them, bolted to the wall, are tissue boxes. Lance grabs two tissues handing them to Keith. “Thought you could hold your spice, Mullet.”   
  


“Shut up.”  
  


Outside, it’s a ghost town. Not a single bypasser in sight. Just cars driving on the roads, though at a minimum. Lance raises his arm up toward the moonlight, swinging his gaze to catch Keith bathing beneath a pearlescent shine.   
  


Glowing, all radiated, he looks effervescing. Something is happening inside Lance’s chest, he can’t quite find an explanation, or, something is stopping him from treading over that bridge. For now he keeps his arm raised, more focused on hailing that cab to take them to their homes.   
  


Finally, before Lance could keep on studying Keith under the moonlight, a cab finally parks at their curb, a door automatically opening for them to get in. Lance slides in first, scooching to the other side, sitting by the window while Keith keeps close to the nearest window seat.   
  


Right, so there’s a seat between them. Good, great, fantastic. Not that Lance wanted to continue on bumping hips with his best friend, he had enough of that at the club. Furthermore, the music playing is innocent and not pulling on any of his dancing strings.   
  


_Good.  
_

“Doku ni iku no?” The taxi driver asks for their destination.   
  


Lance steals Keith’s gaze, probing with his brows for Keith to give up his hotel. “Uh- Tokyu Stay Hotel..in Shinjuku...o-kudasai” Keith sputters, probably scared the taxi driver won’t understand his shoddy americanized Japanese.   
  


“Hai, Tokyu Stay, hai, onegaishimasu.” The taxi driver closes the separating window and drives on.   
  


Strikingly, Lance feels his cheeks tingle a tepid warmth after hearing Keith sport a polite phrase in Japanese. Impressive. “Where’d you learn that?” He leans over the space between them to nudge Keith in his side.   
  


Is he embarrassed? Keith looks out the window when he says, “Had to cram in some studying before visiting a new country. Impressed?” His face is glowing again when the moon shines its light through the cab window.   
  


“Uh-” Lance sounds, his breath caught in his throat.   
  


_What the hell is_ actually _going on?  
_

Casually shooing his flustered state away with a bubbling chuckle, Lance grows into his safe macho persona, “Can’t impress me that easily, my man.” Then he groans internally feeling like a jackass.   
  


To his luck, Keith makes no mark to Lance’s projected machoness by sending out a cute giggle, his body giving off a small shake. “Good to know.” Keith notes, causing a volcanic eruption in Lance’s gut.   
  


Two more days until the final. Can Lance honestly last that long, and with his small revelation during his dancing with Keith at the club, will he last _longer_ than that? He’d just have to wait and see. Keith might say no, and this whole confusing conflict in his mind will, hopefully, all fade away.   
  


But if he says yes.   
  


_‘You don't have to say I love you to say I love you_

_Forget all the shooting stars and all the silver moons’  
  
_

Yes, Lance loves this song, humming along to it, but his heart skips two beats when his eyes fall onto highlighted shades of amethyst.   
  


_' We've been making shades of purple out of red and blue_ _’  
  
_

Mr. Sivan’s voice drapes over Lance’s being, and he knew what music did to him. He wants to dance again. Silently, Lance tugs a corner of his lip up, staring out his window, thinking. Dancing is all he ever wants to do, it’s why he went pro, it’s why he’s always so chipper and happy. And, he tries without being caught, flitting his eyes to stare at Keith again. Looking through his long lashes, he sees Keith is staring dreamily out of his window.   
  


_‘All I need is you.’  
_

Keith catches him in the act. _Fuck.  
  
_

“So..” Lance opens his mouth now that he’s been entangled by the shade made out of red and blue. “Anything new to tell me about you. Like things I should know about you now that are different from when we were 14?” He’s fidgeting with his hands, god they’re so sweaty. Why the fuck is he so nervous. It’s Keith!   
  


Lips red as cherries purse, “Not really no. I’m still me. Just..” The cherry lips curl, “older, I guess.” Keith shrugs all cute.  
  


“So your favorite movie is still Step Up? Not Step Up 2 or 3D, All in, Revolution…” Keith starts gutting out a loud laugh, and Lance wants to lasso that shining moon for him, “I can keep on going, do you know how many sequels they made for that _one_ movie!” Lance shoots one finger up for more emphasis.  
  


Keith answers through his ongoing laugh, “Trust me, I know! I’ve seen them all!”  
  


“Course you have.” Lance rolls his eyes.   
  


Then they both sigh. Going quiet again.   
  


_Awkward.  
_

“How about you? Is it still Dirty Dancing?” Keith asks. They’re nearing Shinjuku, just rounding the corner when Lance notices a sign. Not long now and he has to say goodbye to Keith. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to say goodbye yet, even if he gets to see him again soon.   
  


Dirty Dancing, Lance loves that movie to bits and pieces, but he hasn’t seen it since he last saw it with Keith. It brought back too many memories of their very short, though very grateful, friendship.   
  


Good thing Keith can’t read minds. “You know it. Though Shrek 2 is a close winner, too.” He winks.   
  


“Hai!” They both jump at the taxi driver interjecting, “Tokyu Stay, hai!”   
  


“Shoot, uhm- how much do I owe him, Lance? And-” Keith tilts his head, “Are getting off here too?”   
  


If Lance had known the answers to this difficult exam going on his mind, he’d hop right out of the cab with Keith and maybe hope he’d be asked to join him in his hotel room. But Keith, is Keith. His friend, nothing more.   
  


At least, Lance thinks so.   
  


Lance scoots to where Keith sat in the cab, holding a hand on the corner of the open door, tilting his own head up to fix a gazes at his friend, “I-” Keith is giving money to the cab driver, he nods his head one too many times, which looks so adorable, and gets back to Lance, lighting up for him to continue with his train of thought, “Keith.” He says his name questioningly, though he can't seem to form more words.  
  


“Yeah.”   
  


For some odd reason, Lance crookeds his finger like he wants Keith to come closer to his face, he does. All Lance feels is the excruciatingly hard thump of his heart beating out of his ear drums, he hadn’t planned further for any concrete answer to Keith’s very simple question, and now he must look very much like a nimrod wracking his brain for words.  
  


Is he getting off here?   
  


What is the meaning of life?   
  


Keith’s skin looks so smooth, so milky and Lance bets all of his earned competition money that it feels like perfect porcelain.  


How would it feel if lips touched porcelain?   
  


With his heart beating harder and harder the closer Keith comes, Lance says, “It was good seeing you again. I missed you, _alot_.”   
  


Pulling back, Keith looks like he’s going to frown, a small dragging pull at both corners of his lips. Disappointed? But it’s too soon to tell as his lips dip from drag to curl. “I missed you, too, Lance. Like _alot._ ” He mirrors Lance’s exaggeration.   
  


“You doing anything tomorrow?” Lance suddenly asks.  
  


Now Keith really does frown, going lax while keeping his balance on the cab door, “Sorry, I need to train. We have a comp to compete in you know, and I need to make sure both dances are perfect. I’m not a natural talent like you.” He nudges a brush of his knuckles over Lance’s jawline, sparks igniting at the soft impact.   
  


Lance feels dumb, wincing. Of course, the comp- they wouldn’t have time to do anything fun until after the comp, and it all depended on if Keith will say yes or no,too, and who the hell knew how long he’d stay in Japan if he said no.   
  


“Totally forgot about the comp, my coach is gonna kill me for coming home so late anyways, maybe you’ll win by default if they find my corpse.” Lance teases.   
  


Keith guffaws at that, then his eyes bulge when the taxi driver sends him an impatient look probably asking too if Lance is getting off or not. “Well, looks like I need to keep on going, Keith. I live another 15 minutes from here. See you at the comp?”   
  


“Seeing as you’re my challenger, I have no other choice. That is, if you survive your coach trying to mutilate your very late ass.” Keith says, “I’ll see you at the comp, Lance. And…” His cheeks are a tinge darker than the rest of his face, “I had a good time with you, let’s not make that a rare thing, kay?”   
  


“Kay.” Lance breathes, “May the best dude win at the comp, give it your all.”   
  


Vibrations of controlled dominance thrums from Keith’s stare, his body growing tall and stoic as he stands up from his bent state in the cab. Lance’s mind is static when he really takes in the hard definitions of Keith’s muscles protruding from the tight spaces of his clothes.   
  


He claps Lance out of his trance though when he says proudly, “Oh, you know I always do.”   
  


The cab door closes automatically, and Keith turns smaller and smaller the farther he drives away. He’s waving so Lance waves back until he’s become a small speck, now turning back in his seat then staring into nothing, into oblivion, thinking back. Rewinding this whole night. Because he’s only seen Keith for less than a day, but during this whole day his heart’s been in overdrive, kickstarting on and on again.   
  


Lance heaves out a long, tired sigh.   
  


_Fuck!_


	12. Chapter 12

The next two days speed faster than colors flickering when stomping his foot on a dance pad. It’s here, the day he’ll go against his challenger. His friend. His _ best friend _ , Lance. 

“Nishiazabu Alife.” Keith reads on his phone, staring at the glowing screen then up at the purple neon sign above him. 

It’s dark out, late, around 8PM. The dance competition starts at 10PM sharp. Keith still has, luckily, two more hours before he needs to sleep for a decade and binge all of his shows on Netflix and finally eat whatever the hell he wants. 

No more meal plans. No more dance routines, for a little while at least, and no more anxiety spiking his body with sharp as fuck needles. 

People are making their way into the night club, their tickets visible on their phones when they wave them for the security guards to let them in. That’s right, this is a public event, not like the semi-finals and the auditions where all he had to dance in front of were the judges and his competitors. This gig is being held for anyone interested in watching, almost like it were going to be some kind of tv-show with a host and everything. 

_ Please dear God do not let there be a host.  _

There’s a long line of people dressed in snazzy club wear when Keith leans over his side to take in who will be watching him dance. Fortunately, these people, or the majority of them, are foreigners to him, and they’ll only see him dance this one night then never see him again. They most likely don’t know who he is and is preferably interested in the sport or just want a night out on the town. 

He releases a jittery breath, though, when his headspace tightens on that thought. 

“Nervous?” 

The male voice travels smoothly through him, like someone’s pushing on the right pressure points on his body to keep him relaxed. Next to him is Lance; he looks, well, Keith needs a minute to gather his thoughts on how Lance looks tonight. Or every night for that matter. 

His outfit is most definitely not what he’s going to dance in later, but he still looks like a million bucks, and then some. Keith seriously needs someone to smack him out of his swooning state before he turns into a puddle, because, my god, Lance really does look good tonight. 

“A little, yeah. You know me, with my-” Keith cuts it off right there, no use bringing up his anxiety, was always a touchy subject for him. 

Instead he’d rather do a onceover Lance’s presence. He’s wearing a long, camo green jacket with a vest over shirt top underneath, in blue, of course- and black cargo pants. He looks so, so…

“Like my garb? Approved?” Lance presents himself, swiftly swinging 360 degrees on his heel showing himself off like a model. 

Keith’s eyebrows shoot up wearing an impressed expression, his lips pulled down and nodding his head just a fraction. “Yeah, sweet... _ garb.” _

“Thanks man, looking really swanky yourself.” Lance returns the compliment, his shoulder connecting with Keith’s for a brief moment the touch searing into Keith. 

Looking down, checking out his own... _ garb _ , Keith silently approves of it, happy that it made Lance smile. He had chosen to go with burgundy slacks, a tight black slim-fit shirt with a Metallica t-shirt thrown over, and, predictably, his converse. 

He’ll be changing out of his outfit soon enough, but he wanted to look presentable for the judges, or, whoever will present them on the stage. Appearances had an effect on people, specially audiences, so Keith knows the importance of fashion choices, most specifically when visiting one of the top fashion capitals in the world. 

Heading inside the club, Keith is met with blurs of rushing people, blinding lights, chatters and nagging from every corner of his being. Now he’s being rushed together with Lance toward the back stage part of the club where the people in charge of them to change, and prepare themselves for their dances guide them. 

Keith has his own wardrobe, as does Lance. This is some high society business. Usually, Keith would be escorted to a common room with the other competitors and they’d change garb and train their routines in the open area.

Here, Keith is all alone, being his own coach, psyching himself up for his first routine. And after they were presented on the stage by the host. Yeah, they have a host, who’s extremely eccentric, more than Lance, welcoming both Keith and Lance to tonight’s final. The crowd going absolutely bananas for the pair. 

Keith had no idea that so many people knew about him. How _ did _ they learn about him? About his dancing? YouTube? Inner circles? Anywho, he was a popular topic in the dancing world of Japan, which showed clearly on the screaming crowd surrounding the dancing stage, which is placed in the middle of the club itself. 

They flipped a coin, being asked to yell out heads or tails, in Japanese though, so Keith felt kind of foolish sputtering yet another word in americanized Japanese, and to his greatest demise, he’ll be up first on stage for his first routine. 

Which is t-minus three minutes until he’s up and ready to swing on his toes. “Okay, Keith. You got this. You got this. You got this.” Keith catches his reflection in the mirror in front of him, the lights bright as can be in the moment of tormented dread. 

His first dance is freestyle, he has no problem with freestyle; got it in the bag. He could do this routine in his sleep, it’s the next one he’s worried about. Scared he’ll trip over his toes, or won’t slide far enough. And let’s not get into what’ll happen if he falls on his ass at the most crucial part of that dance. 

He releases a long exhale, lowering and melting into his comfy chair, staring his reflection down, pulverising every single needle that’s pricking inside of him into the dirt. Anxiety can go fuck itself, he’s got this. 

“I’ve got this. I’m going to _ win _ .” Keith whispers triumphantly to himself once more, then jumps with a squealing yelp when a young japanese woman comes to get him. 

Lance is nowhere to be seen when Keith searches the room as he walks towards the stage area. Maybe he’s in the crowd, ready to see him dance. That just makes his heart beat faster, the soles of his feet palpitating. 

The lady, who apparently when Keith comes to his senses, is the host of tonight’s exciting - mildly alarming - event. She says Keith’s name, introducing him and his style of dance, and the crowd goes wild again, cheering and chanting his name. With that, all of the lights on the ceiling flood Keith. He’s dressed in his freestyle outfit: big black baggy pants, a long red t-shirt and a red hoodie covering it topping it off with his white cap. 

An ember begins to flicker inside of him as soon as all of the lights send their beams his way, following him as he makes his way to the center stage. Again, he’s searching, wishing there was a beacon to show him where Lance is, he wants to see Lance watch him dance. 

Time’s up, his music starts playing and the whole club ripples into a silent current of anticipation. 

_ ‘I wanna dance!’ _

Keith begins with popping his chest to the beat of the start of his song (Dance by CLMD), his arms gliding into an intricate set of moves as the song progresses to the chorus and he’s popping and locking with every single reverberating beat, raising his leg in a fast robotic motion, then back down again as his arms continue their intricate web of complex tangles. 

The audience looks stunned by Keith’s solo routine. Hip-Hop has always been his forté, but this song just wakes up this sudden urge to move into the music, work in it as he moves his hips as much as he can and keep the complexity of his arms moving in momentum for the naked eye to bear witness. 

He drags one of his legs to the side, kicking the other up in the air, circling his arm under the other, turning swiftly on his heel. Gritting his teeth, he makes the turn, smiling brightly showing all of his teeth soaking in the praise from the audience as they cheer him on. 

And  _ there _ . 

There is Lance, and he’s... _ damn.  _ His eyes fluctuate like strobing lights when they grip Keith while he’s still in action, trying to focus on his step count and rotations. A moment longer headlocked in Lance’s entrancing stare and he’d screw up his whole routine, but Keith breaks free riding smoothly back into step with his intricate moves again, listening in for the transitioning end of the song. 

At the end, Keith balances on the heels of his feet dipping low with the back of his body making a 180 turn with his upper body, throwing his hands out when the last line is sung. 

_ ‘I wanna dance tonight...I wanna dance, _

_ all night.’ _

Everything is still a swooshing blur for Keith when he finishes, trying to find air for his lungs, sensing a vibrated aura of melding color vibe into a mixture of heat and transcendence. When Keith finally regains his lightheadedness he gets stricken down by an incessant amount of blue. Lance is clapping, hollering and whistling at Keith’s routine. But with sharp observation, Lance is also drawing in long breaths in tact with Keith’s heaving, like he’s been dancing all along with Keith on that stage. 

Another round of applause and Keith is quickly guided back to his wardrobe to shower off his sweat, but he ignores his acute smell of dance and runs back to the stage to watch Lance’s routine. 

He’s all set; standing strong, lithe and very tall at the far right corner of the stage. Odd, he’s not placed in the middle like most dancers would start their routine, but Lance is a rare case, he has a mind of his own that most people could never decipher. 

Dinstinctingly, Lance is known to have a different style of free dance than Keith’s pop and locking and intricate wave of arms. With Lance’s style, he’s more into the _ feel  _ of a song, the  _ sexy  _ side of it. He’s all limbs and flexibility with his dances. Always marked with effortless grace, is what the reviewers have written about him when Keith got curious after his meet-cute with the bronze boy. And that’s  _ exactly  _ what Lance dishes up for tonight’s hungry audience.

Before Lance is ready, set, go, the music slowly begins and Keith instantly recognizes the beats to  _ Taki Taki _ possessing Lance’s dancing soul. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Lance is going to win this whole fucking shebang with his banging hips. Even the way he’s dressed, he’d win only for that, hardly wearing a thing, just a loose, almost see-through black shirt and tight spandex pants. 

Damn this whole comp to the far deep depths of any underworld in any mythology because Lance has this in the fucking, decomposing,, plastic bag. 

Look at him, Keith sneers lightly at Lance as he starts with a boasting backflip, a perfect landing that goes into him moving those luscious ample hips. It’s like they cover the entire stage for each swaggering dip to the side he makes. 

The crowd is practically dancing with him as their bodies sway alongside with the rhythm of his body. He toes the stage with a long leg, sliding it from one corner to the other, one hand gripping his hip roughly and the other roaming into the free, levitating, it’s flying with fine precision. And his expression;  _ oh _ , this boy, he’s lost, so lost in the song and dance that he looks like he’s ready to sprout wings and soar into the night sky to dance along with the stars. 

His moves are quick, flawless, on fucking fleek with every sway, sweep and stir of his body. That’s the thing with Lance, he dances with his whole body. Every part of him gets a slice of the action. Hands wave into the beat, his toes curling beneath the balls of his feet, even his neck gets a nice sexy glide into it. 

Keith has the wind knocked out of him when Lance finally ends with such finesse, his end pose projecting such a powerful deamour it has the whole club floored by the force of his dance.

And what do you know, the crowd blows up. 

But Lance isn’t paying attention to the audience cheering for him, no. He’s entirely out of breath, smiling from ear to ear and piercing a zapping blue gaze right into Keith. 

He licks his lips slowly, teeth catching bottom lip, then mouths the words directly at him,  _ ‘Beat that.’ _


	13. Chapter 13

_ Half time. _

Right. Great, fabulous, so this is all going squeaky clean, Keith sighs out relievingly. Is all going easy peasy, huh? Like when life gives you lemons and you need to squeeze them in your enemies eyes when the opportunity strikes. Except, Lance isn’t Keith’s enemy. His rival, on the other hand, most definitely. But, an enemy? Too far…

They’re friends after all. 

Keith huffs out an exasperated, tired puff of air, slouching into the comfiness of his dressing room chair. His eyes hook onto his reflection bouncing back at him, looking all glamorous and ready for the next dance. He even went as far as to apply highlighter on his cheek bones. 

_ Glow-up Keith is ready for action!  _

He winces a little at his reflection and a new sigh breaks out when he thinks about the style of dance that’s next.

_ Contemporary.  _

As soon as Lance was escorted politely off the dancefloor with the crowd trying to snag a touch at his bronze-slicked skin, in seconds, it became flooded with the club goers indicating that half time had started. They had 30 minutes to shower, dress into their next routine outfit and have their music ready. 

Back in his dressing room, Keith does the final touches on his outfit. He made sure to buy a burgundy crop top with material as thin as possible, so when he does his tumbles and leaps, it won’t slick to his skin. Everything about this dance has to go right. Day in and day out for the past two months, before he arrived to Tokyo, he’d been practicing this routine. Blood, sweat and tears made out of Keith had resulted in perfecting this godforsaken dance routine.

The first routine had been nothing but a walk in the park. He even improvised at the end, and the marveled look on the audience just spiked his adrenaline to go even farther. Fun. Keith had so much fun on the dancefloor, his anxiety didn’t visit him once during those 3 short minutes. 

Lance’s gorgeous face suddenly flashes in the mirror, surprising Keith. “Hey.” 

In a jolt, Keith hops onto his chair, his hands balancing him when he turns to see if it were Lance standing in his door or just a mirage of him as if Keith's drink was spiked with some weird Shinto voodoo spell. 

Nope, Lance is standing there, him too wearing a similar outfit to Keith’s ‘cept he’s sporting his tailored color, blue. 

Keith softens his gaze, “Hey.” 

“So,” Lance takes his hand and firmly plants it on the nape of his neck, leaning on to the doorframe, looking up into the ceiling, “did you like my routine?” 

“Did I.” Keith blurts lively, sending his long hair behind his shoulder. 

_ What was that hair-flinging, Keith?!  _

Is he, really? Is he flirting with Lance? 

_ Shit.  _

_ Stop it. Stop it. Just...no. _

Lance’s hand drops, “I hope you did, you’re one tough cookie to compete against.” He smiles now, lips spreading wide. 

If Keith weren’t a competitive asshole, he’d forfeit the comp to have that smile kept in his pocket. But that’s a forbidden thought, shaking his head idly, then nodding. “Yo, your routine was hot!” Fuck, wrong choice of word, Keith can feel his cheeks turning the knob up high on his body-heater. 

“Keefu!” Keith jumps this time in his seat with a small yelp following his surprise, then sending an embarrassed glare at Lance who’s snickering at him, “Omateshimashita, hai, dozo.” It’s the same lady who picked him up last time, the sweet host. She’s waving her hand downwards, wanting Keith to follow her. 

Did a half an hour fly by that fast? He glances at the digital clock resting on his dressing table glowing a faint red 23:30. Military time, Keith squints too hard at the time, “Dude, 11:30 PM.” Lance helps out, winking. “Get going, you’re gonna do great.” He prods for Keith to get out of the comfy chair and face the music, literally. 

Keith walks towards the sweet host, craning his neck when Lance speaks up again. He has that challenging expression on his face, looking down at the floor with hard blue eyes, a smirk crawling along his face. He whips his expression at Keith, “Just don’t do too great, cause I’m gonna win this...mullet.” 

Chills run down cold along Keith’s spine when the nickname reaches him. Keith’s confidence hugs him tightly, “We’ll see about that." He hops out of the chair walking past Lance. "See you out on the dance floor, don’t lose sight of me.” He flashes his own version of a seductive wink, just in time to see Lance falter just an inch on his feet before he swaggers towards the center stage. 

The dance floor, awaits. Let’s not disappoint the crowd, Keith thinks, raising his head up high as he sucks in a hopeful breath. 

***

Lance tries, again, to pry himself through the cramping sea of dancing enthusiasts. “Sumimasen…” He pushes through, still sounding out japanese apologies. Like, he could find a spot further back, but when Keith shoots out a statement like that Lance has nothing other than to obey his command. 

In five minutes, Keith’s music is going to start up. The lights are shining a soft, red glow on the dancefloor.  _ Contemporary.  _ Such a craving style. Lance has a huge love/hate relationship with the style. It just demands...so much. 

The clock hanging on the ceiling above the crowd shows that there’s three minutes left. God, he wants Keith to do well. What is he thinking? Of course he’ll do well. He’s going to kill it. Lance’s whole body feels numb in anticipation. He loves watching others dance, it give him this red hot feel; this dancing burst filled with motivation spreading all from his arms, to his pelvis and down to his legs and feet. 

While he fantasizes about his routine, he hears someone clear their throat next to him, quite obviously. His gaze flicks to his right and he spots a beautiful, creamy blend of mocha and latte colored skin, gorgeous crystal blue eyes infused with a speck of magenta and shockingly white hair. 

“Well then, look what the lion manage to drag in.” Lance coos loudly when he inches in close to his side companion. 

Her wicked colored eyes swish up to him, like a samurai drawing their sword. “I believe it’s  _ cat _ , Lonce.” She huffs. 

Lance clicks his tongue a couple times, “Poor kitty, nah, you need a lion to be able to drag your gorgeous self in here... _ Princess. _ ” 

She scratches out a disgusted noise from the back of her throat. “Don’t call me that, Lonce! I’m not a princess, well, not  _ your  _ princess any-.” 

“No need to be rude..” Lance whines, ignoring her presence as he tries to locate Keith. “From my angle, we’re still friends.” In return she releases a new aggravated huff. 

Lance closes his eyes hard by the sound of her annoyment, so annoyed himself that she came here. “Fine, let me rephrase...still _ well acquainted _ with each other..Why are you here, Allura?” 

Before she can answer, the crowd erupts with cheers and hollers as Keith has now rooted himself to the edge of the stage. He’s on the other side of the stage from where Lance and Allura are standing watch. Lance knows the moment the music plays, he’ll run into a long leap. His soles spike while picturing it, he can’t wait, Keith looks like he could make a beautiful, graceful leap. 

_ ‘My mother said I’m too romantic’ _

_ Fire on Fire _ , Lance’s heart picks up into a rapid beating pace. He  _ loves _ that song, will love it till the end of time. His heart beats even faster now when Keith does the expected. He runs towards the other side of the stage sending his body into a controlled, graceful leap, swinging his straightened leg forward then twisting into a 180, landing on the ball of his other foot, beautifully, absolutely breathtaking already. 

_ Fan-fucking-tastic.  _ Lance wishes the world could witness the purity that is Keith’s dancing. 

Everyone is quiet, amazed by Keith’s talent. Precision on key, he looks like he’s ready to divulge the world with a story about a passionate burning love. 

He does just that, his face, oh, the expression he makes when Sam Smith’s voice seeps into him. Lance feels stricken, like he needs to sit down. Specially when he’s gifted a peek at Keith’s very toned, very sweaty stomach. Lance regrets wearing tights at the moment, but sends a grateful prayer to the Shinto gods that it’s dark and cramped up like the 8AM subway trains. 

While he dances ever so beautifully, Keith is everywhere and nowhere, like a red beam strobing silently across the stage. All Lance can follow is the burgundy loose shirt flapping while he jumps and twirls, his long, raven hair flying surreptitiously behind him. Beauty incarnate, Keith wanted Lance to look at him. Hell, even if he hadn’t demanded it, he knows he’d never be able to look away. 

_ ‘Cause when you unfold me and tell me you love me _

_ And look in my eyes.’ _

Keith has landed on his bare feet again, one foot now slowly sliding from his heel riding along his inner thigh, reaching higher and higher towards the ceiling, towards the sky. It’s thrown straight up high, perfectly balanced as he leans over body, his heavy breathing showing from his chest pumping in and out, hard. 

And he stays there, in the deepest arabesque Lance has seen, all throughout the hair-rising falsetto of the song; gaze looking transfixed, body portraying cupid's bow and arrow. Amazing, his perfect form; all of his body-weight is riding on the strength of his right foot. Outstanding. 

_ Damn, I need to find a thesaurus. Aaaand maybe a bucket of cold water. _

He’s right in front of Lance, a euphoric gaze capturing the bronze boy in a deadlock.  _ Look at me, Lance. Look. At. Me.  _ Loud and clear, Lance can hear Keith whispering the words through the sound of the lyrics, the rhythm of his dance taking him into his hold. Arm extended, long and sensual, hand directed straight at Lance. 

_ ‘You are perfection, my only direction…’ _

Keith's hand falls gracefully like a waterfall then slides with the sway of his torso as he does another series of leaps, tumbles and at last quickly shuffles into a beautiful, vulnerable curled ball, his head resting ever so gently in the nest of his lap, nestling as the song takes a close. 

Sam’s voice drowns the stage with his final line _ , ‘It’s fire on fire’ _

And the club goes ballistic. 

“He’s good, you know him?” Allura’s voice suddenly brings Lance back to sanity through the applause. 

Keith has been escorted from the stage, and Lance missed him, a painful pang rupturing from his speedy heartbeat. “Seriously, why are you here, Lur?” 

“Whot?!” She shoots him an offended glare, “Can’t a girl come look at a comp?” 

Feeling bad, Lance wrinkles his nose side to side, the zesty scent of pomegranate punching him senseless as it wafts from Allura’s slender neck. “Sorry, it’s just that you’ve never shown interest in solo comps before..And I distinctly remember when I asked you to join how your rejecting scoff literally breathed fire in my face.” 

“Rude..” Allura scoffs, that same one she did that Lance distinctly remembers. “Also,  _ asked me _ ?! Lonce, I’ll have you know I was invited by the board to come witness the comp…I’m not here by choice. I'm just being courteous, jeez.” She then huffs out, crossing her strong arms. 

She looks good, Lance slaps himself silly for thinking it, knowing that he’s done with this chick.  _ So. Done. _

“Whatever. Why’re you talking to me anyways?” Lance sends his hip to his hand. 

The hostess is on the lookout for him, he can see her scampering around the dance floor mouthing  _ Ronce _ on and on again. Lance ignores her, “That reminds me, where _ is _ pretty boy? He finally come to his senses and ditch ya, that why you need to badger me? Wait a sec, you’re boning that Lotor dude last time the rumors made their rounds, two for the price of one, nice going, Lur.” He says, happily tugging his bottom lip with his teeth when he catches Allura’s surprised, yet mortified, expression. 

_ Send in the fire squad, this club is gonna burn down to a crisp.  _

“Oh, dear lord, Lonce. You are still so _ fucking  _ insufferable.” 

“Ditto, Princess.” He winks, and slingshots his long arm up for the hostess to lock her gaze on him. She sees him and urges him to come on to the stage. “Oh…” He leans into Allura, his breath going sadistically warm, like fire ready to blaze her away from this place. “Stay away from Keith...I know that’s why you're really here, trying to scope out the competition for later…” 

“Speak for yourself,  _ wanker _ -”

“Classy..” Lance judges Allura’s choice of insult, teasingly though, she never could get through to him. 

Ignoring him, “-but you know I’m unbeatable, and I was asked to come...” She continues, not looking him in the eyes, but looking perfectly crude and proud. “You can regret ever leaving me.” Allura bites back, hard, like a lioness, her powerfully confident demeanor causing gravity to push him down, down, down. 

He’s so happy that he ditched this witch, getting ready for his second routine, walking towards the stage. “Lonce!” She shouts, gaining his unwanted attention, “Better get your credentials and a partner in fast, I’d like to beat your ass to truly show who’s the best of the best.” She taunts him now, tilting her head up like a cocky, British bitch, sliding that perfect pink mouth up to the side, presenting snow-white carnivorous teeth. 

Lance has to get on stage, but he takes three empowering steps back to where Allura is thrumming attitude, infecting the diameter around her. Cleaning is teeth with his tongue, he places a daunting, large hand under her chin, forcing her to look him in his blazing blue eyes, “You’re gonna regret you said that...Princess.” He hisses the s, some spit almost flying at her face, “Pay close attention to all of this..” He does a sexy sweep of his long body, closing in again, “ I want you to understand what you said was utter  _ bollocks _ . And for your information...I might have a partner once this night is over with.” He bites back. 

Then he hops to the stage with his intimidating long legs, raising both his arms up triumphantly, drinking in the clubs’ cheers and claps. 

He’ll show her. 

He’ll show all of them. 

Exactly what dancing is. 


	14. Chapter 14

It’s done. 

_ It’s done. It’s done. It’s done.  _

_ It. Is. Done.  _

A towel was thrown at him as soon as the hostess held her arm out to escort Keith off the stage. Amazing how fast time goes when you dance, but at the same time, how excruciatingly slow. When he came to his most crucial part of the dance, time stood eerily still, it felt like that melting clock in a Dali painting. Everyone around him, all of the hundreds of people in the club, quiet as a mouse. Not even a cough, a clap or a shout. Just the long falsetto of Sam Smith’s voice, and an open window to Lance’s sonorous blue soul. 

While the locals clean the stage of Keith’s sweat, he makes a beeline for the front row, Lance is on in 5 minutes. He’s gonna win this one, Keith knows it in his body, he feels the jump of his heart leaping in to tighten his throat and rupture his eardrums to tell him that he failed the arabesque. 

So close, he was so close to not shaking. Keith bites his inner cheek to swallow down his conserving nerves and feelings. Maybe no one noticed it except for him, however the case, Keith will always be the one who knows about it, that the one routine he wanted perfected wasn’t perfect and that’s just a kick in the fucking knee.

_ A failure, I’m a failure.  _

Something like a landslide of needles is serrating his skin. Cheeks going warm from irritation and his eyes are stinging him.  _ Keep it together, Keith.  _ He chants and chants and chants as he finally finds an open spot to steal in front of the dancefloor. 

At least he can rest easy for a hundred years, his routine is done, he’ll never have to do it again. That chapter is finally closed, buried in the black, unknown pockets of the sea. And it can stay there. Until the next time he has to go and fish it back up. 

It’s just that...months filled with practice, and that was all he was able to give his audience, give Lance! If he were able to make a do-over he would, and alas, life isn’t that fair unfortunately. But as some remedial consolement, he’ll get to see the look on his best friend’s face when they announce his name as the winner. God, he’s gonna kill it!

Still 3 minutes left on the clock, Lance has to be somewhere near the dancefloor, probably backstage being groomed by the set people, he always wanted to leave an impression with his looks. So his hair might be slicked back, since he grew out his shiny, brown curls, not that Keith had been noticing. He was wearing a similar outfit to Keith’s too, except he didn’t go for a crop top rather a light blue, airy shirt, sparkling and made of tulle and black ballerina tights strapping over his soles. He looks like golden royalty, all that’s missing is a blood-red crown to perfect his ensemble. 

_ Contemporary.  _

Keith has no idea what kind of relationship Lance has with the dance style. He’s always been, as long as Keith has remembered, this immensely freespirit when it came to dance. One style never was enough for him, although he always made sure to squeeze in an accent of his latin style despite which style he danced, it was and still is his best style. Well, owning those ample hips... _ stop it, Keith.  _

The thing is, with freestyle, you can be as unpredictable as you want to be, and Lance’s as unpredictable as you get them; so with contemporary...you have to keep yourself consisted and unmistakably practiced. You have to be able to tell a story. Be able to convey it so that your audience can grasp it like reading between the fine lines of a beautifully written book, or, in this case, to decipher the intricacies that needs to be translated through smooth, gliding dance. 

That was what got Keith into dancing - besides his father - being able to tell a story. He can’t write for shit, he can draw some, and his articulative skills are below average, but he has so many stories running and running through his head and they all need to be told, so therefore, dance became his medium. And not once has he regretted it. 

Except, maybe, tonight. 

“Alright there, Red?” A feminine, British accented voice snags his attention, “That was some moves you had there. But don’t think the two of you can beat me that easily..” 

Keith slides his head to the left, angling it down a few inches catching a strikingly gorgeous woman. Seriously, hadn’t Keith been the etymology of gay, he’d make a fan-account for this woman. But hey, he already knows, finally taking in who’s standing next to him, that thousands of accounts already exist for her. 

“Y-y-you’re..” He stutters, his heart jackhammering in his chest. 

Holy mother of dragons. Keith can’t contain his fanboy, it’s definitely showing by the way his face is lighting up, and how much he wants to bomb the woman with all of his love for her. 

But before he can shower her in, maybe headspinningly annoying, praise, she brings a slender finger to her hot pink lips, closing one ice-blue eye, “ _ Shh _ . You never saw me.” She says, smiling kindly, and within the blink of an eye, she’s gone with the wind. Or with the stench of alcohol and sweaty clubgoers, but to Keith’s senses all he can smell is the bite of pomegranate, and a hint of something very piquant like, lemons? 

_ When life gives you lemons… _

Dazed and confused, Keith has to blink himself back to his senses. Could have been his imagination, he thinks, but his focus is stolen when Lance saddles onto the stage. It’s easy to know when Lance takes over the room what with the crowd blowing up the entire roof off with their cheers and claps. Unbelievable how much energy Japanese youths have when it’s close to midnight. However, Keith being ever the introvert, he yields at the thought, bringing his presence back to the stage. 

Shockingly - _ not- _ Lance finds his starting position right in front of where Keith is standing audience. There’s barely half a foot between them. Keith swears he could smell the faint scents of sandalwood and minty fresh breath-mints coming from the brunet. Subconsciously, he takes a quick once over, he can’t help it, and Lance’s tight-fitting black and blue clothes is hugging him in all the right places,  _ Christ _ . 

It’s like he wants to battle, his expression going from soft to hard in a split-second, faster than any bullet, as the two of them dare meet eyes. It’s the look he always shares before a dance-off on the arcade machines. 

“ _ Watch me, mullet. _ ” Lance mouths right before the song overflows the room with the glides of a violin, and then Lance throws his hands forward, fingers spreading, almost touching Keith’s nose and he sweeps himself backwards on the stage like someone has a chain pulling him, his head flinging back brusquely. 

_ ‘We were young, posters on the wall _ _   
_ _ Praying we’re the one that the teacher wouldn’t call  _ _   
_ __ We would stare at each other ‘cause we were always in trouble’

There isn’t any way to explain what happens next except how heart-stirring this boy’s dancing is. Keith was scared Lance wouldn’t grasp the concept of contemporary dance, but he had been so fucking wrong. 

Lance’s expression is sensual, voluptuous, Keith’s breathing slides out unevenly he almost loses his footing when catches Lance’s expression yet again, swinging into prime focus, the spark of his sea-blue eyes zapping an electric storm that’s crazing into a rough fight with Keith’s whole entire body. 

He does a series of waves with his hands, snaking it along with the fast dip of head as it glides in tact with the drumming beats of the music. Then he falls sensually with his whole being and taps into an allegro; dude knows his ballet, like someone has been teaching him for years. His toe steps are on point, flawlessly following the music and the firmness of his body. 

_ I want him to lift me _ , Keith suddenly thinks, shocked really at the thought because he’s done with dancing for a while now and being lifted only implies dancing doubles. Him and Lance were never meant to partner up, not when they’re rivals. It doesn’t fit the term...or does it? 

Lance is preparing himself for the chorus, the lyrics gaining on him. Keith can see it when the slender yet strong brunet casts a new look at him when Ava’s voice sings,  _ ‘We all need that someone that gets you like no one’ _ , and Lance’s lips curl into the cutest most happy smile ever, knowing full well that Keith is that someone. Keith feels the same about him, pressing his lips together sucking in a sharp breath being extremely impressed by Lance’s amazing routine. 

The choreography is such a beautiful blend of ballet and ice skating. Like he’s split into two separate personalities, twins, one is evil and one is good. One is the white swan and the other black. 

As he does a series of rough, quick steps all around the dance floor, he becomes the black swan, his face stern accenting into sharp angles, his legs hard as steel, ready to hammer nails into diamonds. Each and every move is boisterous, like he’s pulling gravity down on each individual in the room, telling them to listen to his every command. He’s slithered into the persona of the cruel prince in a fairy tale story, smile wicked. He’s cunning and evil, but there’s a hint of vulnerability that’s still beneath his bones- the white swan. 

The white swan is brought out when he leaps into a toe jump, scissoring in the air, his fingertips touching each protruding tip, front and back, like he’s done it a million times on end. He lands on the soles of his feet, then rises into an array of elegant assemblés, four times he rises, then slides one leg far, far down to the floor, his thigh almost hitting it before he slides it back up, throwing his arms behind his back-

“ _ Fuck _ ..” Keith’s voice breaks as he studies the awe-inspiring beauty that is Lance. 

He holds, and looks like a delicate swan ready to prove to the world that he can become light in swallowed darkness. 

_ ‘I’m not gonna make it alone _

_ La la la la la la _

_ La la la la la -lone’ _

This is where he proves he can’t be beaten. For each syllable briskly sung, he twirls and twirls and twirls. He doesn’t stop, he just goes on. Arms weaving dexterously, like he really is a professional dancing swan at a Russian concerto. 

He’s gone from the cunning, cruel prince to empowering himself into the grand king on the dance floor. No one fucks with him- dance is him, he is dance. He dances, therefore he is. Keith is collided into oblivion as Lance is exulting the force of his dance. 

Funnily, and expectingly so, Lance has managed to add his latin movements in the recipe of his choreography, those lucious hips bumping side to side when he delves into a sway of his body while the song nears its bitter end. When one side of his hips bangs, Keith is sure the universe has been bumped into a new galaxy. He swears everyone in the world has lost a nanosecond of balance. 

Just like Keith, Lance also motions into an arabesque, lifting his long, long leg in the air, he doesn’t hold for as long as Keith, just for one single beat, sending it down for assisting elevation as he kicks into a high toe-leap where his legs don’t scissor this time, they spread into a splits. His smile is blindingly bright and brilliant the moment he’s airborne, but then, it dies when he doesn’t land the jump. 

The whole club gasps simultaneously, but luckily, Lance is a professional falling on his back and turns the rough landing into part of the dance. He shakes it off by sliding into a 360 on his back, spinning to his knees and lifting his body up one body part at time until, at last, his toes rise him to the top. 

_ ‘I’m not gonna make it alone!’  _

His final stance is him standing tall with both his arms wrapped tightly around his chest, head tilted down, his shoulder blades sticking out like wings, but in a metaphorical sense, his wings are spread out wide a wingspan covering the entire floor, one wing black the other white. His dualism hasn’t morphed into one. By the look of his devastated expression, the cunning, cruel prince is blurring his features. 

He looks finished, silently breaking apart, scared he’s going to crumble to the floor right then and there. 

Keith runs to Lance. 


	15. Chapter 15

Dracula on a stake, even when he’s crying, the blue devil still looks like a fucking model crafted by the gods themselves. His eyes sparkle when they meet Keith in a tidal wave. The tears are, to his own luck, dried away, all he can see are single tracks sloping down underneath each of those bedazzling gems. 

Keith lops Lance’s arm over his shoulder, keeping him grounded and bumping his head lightly with his own to grab the poor boy’s attention away from the crowd. They’re cheering him on, and it’s not stopping with a first, that’s how good his dance was. Fuck almighty, he was absolutely amazing, that little bump of a fall shouldn’t make him look like a kicked puppy. 

“Don’t be sad, Lance...” Keith comforts him with a soft tone, flicking Lance's upturned nose teasingly, hoping his smile will pull som dragging weight off his, to Keith’s perception, very broad, shoulders.  _ Stop pining, Keith. Now is not pining time, it’s in it to win it time.  _

The worst is over with, and Lance should be grateful that he performed such a dance that’ll be remembered by his audience for, like,  _ ever _ ! A solo performance like his will take even the best dancers in the world, like Allura Altea, to top; if he doesn’t win then the judges are pretty much the spawn of the devil, loving to be heinous against absurdly awesome, deserving dancers. 

Keith tries again to sooth Lance with praise, but,  _ ever the child _ , Lance can’t stop his fresh flow of crocodile tears. And Keith’s heart sinks for him as he catches Lance trying forcefully to reassure that he’s fine, his peachy mouth squiggling into a thin smile, but it definitely looks like he’s doing it to gun point. It’s so easy to see that beneath his chest, his heart is cracking. 

On their way off the stage, Keith presses his lips together once, contemplates a new motive of praise, then tries again, “Lance…” 

“Shut it, Mullet. What’s done is done. We both messed up-” Lance laughs painfully through a small sob, leaning against Keith’s unkempt mane; it’s all over the place and he’s in dire need of a hair tie. 

_ We both messed up.  _ His words echo like thunder in Keith’s skull. So he saw it too, his tremble during the arabesque. Keith breaks into a relieved smile, a bloom of appreciation spreading from the pump of his heart to the soles of his feet. Best friends for life, he doesn’t care who wins this comp, as long as he gets to keep in touch with Lance afterwards. 

Almost off the stage, but Keith still wants Lance to understand that his dance was the bomb, not a deflated one. He did this, he created this storm. So, Keith jabs Lance’s ribcage with two fingers hitting his funny bone and gaining an incredulous look by the tan boy. 

“Listen.” Keith motions for Lance to listen closely, his hand shaping a C around his ear, then waggling his bushy brows at him looking like a smug fuck. 

_ This is for you, you lug. They love you. Like-  _

The club is flooded with clapping, everyone is chanting Lance’s name. “Rance! Rance! Rance!” Whoops circulate the flow of stomping, satisfied feet, feeding the storm, almost literally blowing the roof off now. 

“I don’t know who this Rance guys is, but...” Lance kids doing his own take of a brow-waggle, his mood brightening by the second as he drinks in the onslaught of cheers for him. But his gaze stays fixed on Keith, that lopsided smile sinking into his bloodstream almost making him drunk on it. 

Keith can barely stand straight -  _ hah _ \- that smile’s percentage of intoxication skyrocketing the more he stares along Lance's gratifying grin, the golden hues of his skin, the way his eyes dance under the club’s soft lights, it’s like he needs to switch positions with the brunet before he falls for him.  _ On  _ him. Before he falls- you get the picture.  _ Ugh. _

Backstage, Lance returns Keith’s arm, but keeps close to his vicinity, hardly much proximity between their hips as they make their way down the hall to their rooms before announcing who danced the best tonight. 

Sucking in a deep, nervous breath, Keith starts telling Lance, “You were…” Why was praising your best friend alone so nerve wracking? Someone throw some alcohol in his bloodstream, before he does something stupid.

Lance hooks on to his words, lifting a thin brown brow, eyes more mysterious than the sea itself and all the words of wonder waiting to be fished, “Awful, terrible, painful to watch-” He starts listing for Keith, sustaining a low chuckle as he keeps his mouth glued, decreasing his partly amused expression. 

“Indescribable.” Keith settles on, and Lance just looks so, so-  _ Abashed _ . 

He stops walking, throwing a hand under his chin, holding his elbow and tapping his foot to a familiar rhythm. “I don’t know how to interpret that..” He says, waiting for Keith to elaborate on the adjective. 

For once, Keith feels lucky. It’s quiet in the hallway, none of the busy comp people are bustling about, probably working on getting the stage ready to present the winner. Again, Keith can feel his nerves spiking all over him, though he’s positive it’s of excitement, not dread. At least, he hopes so. 

Snapping back to Lance, he elaborates. A small smile forming across his lips. “They haven’t invented words that describe your dancing yet.” Then he urges for them to keep walking, “Come on, they need us to go shower and change before they announce who wins.” He pinches his nose, waving a hand at Lance, “By the way, you stink.” 

“So it was that bad...so much for your  _ indescribable _ …” Lance huffs, mocking Keith’s praise, doubling over his long torso. 

Christ, such a big baby. Keith slides his very unamused lips to the side. “‘Scuse you, we both know you’re gonna win this! It’s your fucking stench that stinks, Asswipe. We  _ both  _ need a shower.” He’s behind Lance now, pressing the flats of his palms along his spine, but his muscles, Keith can feel, are so...defined. Keith gulps around a heated lump, chancing to press his fingers under Lance’s shoulder blades, and Go- _ had _ , they’re so... _ toned _ . 

“ _ Ooh _ , wanna join me?” Lance suddenly coos, but his face swiftly turns to face Keith to show he’s only joking, but Keith can see that his pupils have blown wider than any planet. 

_ Oof _ , it’s not easy to suspect which brain decided to type out those words on his peachy lips, but they revealed themselves in very bold, black ink. Lance’s eyes are still blown wide, but one of his large hands continues to fly all over the place as he tries to figure out a way to save himself out of that one. 

_ Is this kid into guys or not?  _

_ Just ask him, Keith. _

He smacks his brain into next year.  _ I can’t! I just...can’t do that.  _

They’re friends, Keith resonates - tells himself over and over again - it might just be the blue devil’s way to fuck with him. Since, you know, they’re friends and all. And friends fuck with each other. Not in a literal sense, like in the shower or anything... _ fuck. _

Except, when that question smacked into Keith like a pillow during a pillow fight, he became equally stunned, betting that his own pupils were the size of a black hole. But it would have been too good to be true. A serious case of once in a blue moon. So Keith just washes it all away with metaphorical soap. 

Wishing he had the guts to continue that sudden thought though, he just laughs it off instead, loudly; rolling his eyes,  _ painfully hard _ . His whole way of shaking away this awkward situation is painful to him; the fake laugh, the hard eye roll, the slapping of Lance’s shoulder.  _ Kill me now.  _

“Pfft, jackass- get going, see you at the announcement.” Keith pushes Lance into his room, a bit harder than intended but that little joke really stung. 

Lance starts walking deeper into his room, his head hanging low like he’s disappointed over something. Could it be the dance he’s still lingering on? Or maybe-?

“Hey Lance!” He whips his head back to Keith. “Leave the math to the judges, you did great- you’re a mesmerizing dancer. Please, keep that in mind.  _ Always. _ ” Then Keith closes his door, a silent thud echoing the hall. 

*** 

Lance didn’t mean for that little line to come rolling out of his mouth, but once the words started forming, he couldn’t stop. It all came out like word vomit. 

Did he really want to shower with Keith? 

A sudden heat starts fire cracking between his thighs, an onslaught of warmth cradling his cheeks;  _ hot, hot, hot _ . 

God, this boy will become the death of him one day. Specially when he looks so good both sweaty and clean. Not that Lance didn’t mind being dirty from time to time. 

He slams a curled fist on the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. All he can see now reflecting from his irises, is the dance routine; how he was able to kick so high up in the air, adrenaline hugging him and promising him that he’ll make the landing. Then- 

A small hitch cracks from the back of his throat and falls through hit gritted jaw, sending his curled fist towards the mirror. But he holds it back in time, the mirror still in one piece, keeping his gaze lingered on his reflection. He’s shattered a mirror once before out of anger, at home, and his Tío was not happy about that. 

He also remembers how much smashing a mirror hurt like hell. 

Lance winces when he pictures how angry his Tío was that day..  _ Never piss that jerkwad off again,  _ Lance reminds himself as the memory of his Tío’s blazing amber eyes create a new kind of heat inside of him, not the kind of warmth imagining what showering with his best friend would be like does. 

“Christ…” Lance swallows around his heart resting in his throat, walking into the shower to cleanse away these dirty thoughts about his best friend. It wouldn’t be nice to Keith, specially if he doesn’t swing that way. 

_ Not that I swing that way… _ Lance keeps on convincing himself, but that is an equation to figure out after the comp. It all depended on if Lance felt daring enough to ask Keith that one special question or not. 

Standing next to Keith in the middle of the stage has Lance’s feet running on speed. He’s so excited but also feeling this certain pull of dread in the pit of his stomach. Will he win? Will Keith? One of them is going to win, but Lance isn’t sure if he feels like he’ll deserve the win if he does end up having his name called. 

“Mina-sama!” The cute hostess calls to the crowd through her microphone, swinging a hand to both him and Keith. 

Damn, these weird thoughts keep invading his mind when he does a speedy onceover Keith’s outfit; how fit he looks sporting this sexy rockstar getup.  _ Keep it in your pants, Lance, remember, you don’t like guys, Keith just looks nice and you want to steal his outfit is all.  _ That’s what he keeps telling himself, but soon or later, he could be finding himself grabbing Keith’s hand and dragging him to the nearest- Lance sucks in a sharp inhale through his nose, his chest rising high, holding his breath to suffocate the lewd thoughts. 

“Good luck.” He hears Keith babbling in his ear, a smile claiming those rosy lips. 

Fireworks have already gone blast off before they’ve even announced the winner, and Lance releases his prisoned breath. Man oh man, his face, his precious, most perfect looking face, how hasn’t Lance really taken into consideration that Keith, his best friend,  _ is hot _ ; hotter than hell itself? 

Lance quakes his lips into a loopy smile, pride blurring his features.  _ Be an asshole, that’ll shake him away from you.  _ “I don’t need luck, Mullet.” He says, a little aloof, crossing his arms. But releases them to his sides the second he understands that he can’t act like that with Keith, so instead, to make up for being a dick, he snakes a long arm around his friend’s waist, a squealed yelp leaving Keith’s throat; his cherry red lips, Lance notices and smiles genuinely as he pulls Keith into his ample hips as well.

“L-l-lance.” Keith breathes, a wave of...shock? Nevrosity? Is he-? Why, it could be the warmth of the lights, but Keith’s cheeks are splashing a nice red color, like he’s blushing. 

Keith’s hips feel sultry, bumping nicely against Lance’s narrow hips.  _ Don’t get too excited.  _

While the hostess talks about the boys’ dances, and even shows a replay of them on the screens above the stage, Lance scopes out the audiences. She’s nowhere to be seen in the sea, probably took her leave after his second dance. As long as she didn’t show herself to Keith. 

Not that that would be any issue, unless he says no. Lance tugs his teeth worriedly on his bottom lip, shooting up when the hostess starts speaking English. “Rance, Keefu- please step forward.” She asks politely, showcasing with her free hand where she wants them to stand. 

Both him and Keith take five long steps forward, never releasing their hold. Keith even has his hand resting on top of Lance’s hand, the one shaping his best friend's hip. Beads of sweat form on his brow, he can feel it as they trickle down his forehead. 

_ Get on with it, just tell us who won! _

She rips the envelope open, the one that has the winner's name etched on it, it makes a satisfying ripping sound. Crikey, he’s so overwrought by her tearing the envelope a drowning pull of overwhelming grabs hold of him, ready to pull him under a blanket of despair.

Straightening his collars with sweaty fingers, Lance senses a thunderous pounding happening beneath his chest; but he can’t really feel it, can’t hear it- it’s lost, the beat of his heart. He snatches a super fast glance toward the one he's tied to, running the tip of his tongue over his chapping lip..

_ Did Keith steal it? _

“And the winner of the 5th  _ Annual Jump State Dance-A-Thon _ is…” Clearly she does as every ducking host on any fucking tv-show does; she waits to say who wins for what feels like a million bajillion years. 

Lance startles when Keith grips his hand now, squeezing it hard. His indigo eyes are sewed shut, the crinkles around them making him look like this adorable kid waiting for his turn to ride the pony. 

Feeling the same way, Lance closes his eyes too. But he doesn’t think about wanting to win. All he sees in his mind’s eye is Keith. That’s all he sees. How beautiful the boy looked doing his breath stealing arabesque. 

He deserves to win. 

“Keefu!” 

And he does. 

They both shock their eyes open, turning to face each other, reeling their sweaty states into a hug. “You won, motherfucker!” Lance shouts in Keith hair, breathing him in; violets. He smells like violets,  _ son of a bitch.  _

As they pull away, Lance sees only Keith, like he did when his eyes were closed. God, he’s smiling with all of his teeth, he looks like a dark angel. 

His hand automatically goes for a stray lock of raven hair, tucking it behind Keith’s ear. “ _ Lance. _ .” Keith mouths his name the one second their eyes meet before he continues to lean in-

Time stands profoundly still when his lips press lightly against Keith's ear; it's burning, like Lance's voice as it sinks into the raven boy with such a burning passion for dance. For his friend.

“Duo with me, Keith."


	16. Chapter 16

_Duo with me._

  
On and on and on, Lance’s smooth like honey voice seeps all sticky through Keith’s skull. It’s tiring, ironically enough as Keith cannot for the life of him get any more sleep. The words just keep on echoing like someone has rung a huge-ass gong and the reverberations are knocking every inch inside his head with Lance saying ‘ _duo with me, duo with me..’_

_  
Duo with me.  
  
_

“Argh!” Keith fusses, tossing and turning in his hotel bed. His eyes have been closed until now, prying open like someone’s flashing a light at them. No bother, he can’t sleep anyway when that asshole’s voice continues to blare in his head for every waking second.   
  


The bed is comfy, nonetheless, it smells fresh, like coconut fabric softener; so that’s one small comfort to take in while he contemplates on Lance’s little declaration; no, wait, his mother effing big as ten football fields demand.  


It was enough to receive a whole club’s worth of praise and congratulations after winning the international singles comp- but to continue on dancing when Keith had already distinguished that he was going to take a long break from all the competitive dancing and rather focus more on dancing as a hobby; something that he didn’t need to stress too much about; put his anxiety in danger.   
  


_Jesus._ Keith slams his arms over his duvet, turning to look at the glow of his phone. If he pushed on the homescreen button, he’d see a lockscreen pic of a selfie of him and Lance after Keith’s name was declared winner.   
  


A smile breaks on Keith’s lips. Not quite elongated, it’s small, but still a smile.  


Lance wants Keith to pair up with him, as in dance together, with _him_ !   
  


Unbelievable really, Keith felt so done with dancing when his feet landed on the floor for the last time during his contemporary routine. Like a reprieve. A reminder that he’s done. No more stress, no more 8 hour practices; no more blood, sweat and tears. No more tears. At least, for a little while. 

  
But. He can’t say goodbye to those hardships if he says yes to Lance.   
  


Duoing with Lance meant only one thing. More commitment. Like when you’re handed a list of books you’re required to read during a school year. Just more work, to be honest. However, dancing along side Lance, like when they were at the club; now Keith’s smile truly blooms across his face; he could feel the corners reach his ears, the memory of Lance’s golden shimmery face glow before him as he razzle dazzled the entire club with his bombastic moves, riding those ample hips taking up all the space that club could offer him. It wasn’t enough, though. The space of the club; Lance would need an entire stage to himself to show off what those hips could do.   
  


Commitment. Requirement. Work. Practice, practice, practice. Damn, knowing if he does pair up with Lance, it will take five times more work than dancing solo. Fuck. It’ll take fives times five more work. Lance is a cocky, stubborn drama-queen. He doesn’t know the first thing about working in a pair.   
  


Or does he?   
  


Sparks tingle in Keith’s fingertips, giving him the rush he needs to pull off the duvet and grab his phone. Lance’s name shines brightly in white letters when he swipes to his number. The clock in the upper right corner of his screen reads 08:49. So Keith did get some sleep, he was just in dire need of _sleeping in._   
  


It is his last day in Japan after all.   
  


_Unless._   
  


“Ugh..” Lance grumbles from his end of the receiver. “What time is it, mullet.” He obviously had the same idea as Keith.   
  


Keith smirks, serves the blue devil right. Specially when he hit him hard with that fucking bomb of a claim last night. “Get up. It’s my last day today, I want to spend it with you.”   
  


“Last day?!” Lance shouts, Keith pulling away before he goes deaf. “ _Oof!_ ” A loud thudding sound quaked from Keith’s phone.   
  


“Lance, are you alright? Did you fall out of your bed?” Keith asks with concern.   
  


On his end of the phone, Lance starts making shuffling noises like he’s regaining his fallen composure. “I’m here. Lancey-Lance is here. So, you gonna take me up on my offer?”   
  


Way to shoot that in at 9 in the morning. Keith frowns, finding his reflection in the mirror above the hotel vanity frowning back at him, clearly not amused by Lance swinging for an answer.   
  


“Too early. We need sustenance.”   
  


“Sustenance?”   
  


“Coffee, Lance. I need caffeine before I can start thinking.”   
  


Lance cackles, “Sustenance.” He guffaws the word, repeats it like it’s not a real word. “Fine, okay. We’ll get you your precious coffee. Maybe it’ll convince you to stay.”   
  


Coffee could do wonders on certain people. Even simple minded, dance-crazed people like Keith. “Maybe.” 

***

Harajuku so early in the morning has Keith, once again, marveled. Japan is such a marvel. They’re almost in March, which makes cherry blossoms so close to blooming. Keith follows a sudden petal made of a dusty pink breeze past him.   
  


Something so simple and yet it withholds all of that yet to be discovered marvel Japan has to offer him. Maybe he will say yes to duo with Lance. You know, just to see the full bloom of the cherry blossoms, no other reason.   
  


Pff.  
  


Keith finally had his dose of caffeine, although not feeling quite awake yet. Three more cups then he’d be good to go, but right now, he feels somewhat rejuvenated and ready to discuss that little - micro, _NOT_ \- situation between him and his best friend.   
  


Meiji Jingu shrine makes its first appearance of Keith’s whole entire trip. It’s preposterous that Keith has been here almost a week and he still hasn’t visited a single well-known temple or shrine. He did visit that accidental, hidden alley shrine, but it didn’t spell out anything touristy. Has Keith even done anything touristy; except go to Roppongi and dance his heart away at the very lively club together with Lance. Also, he’s eaten ramen and well, not much more than that.   
  


Shit, he still wanted to try out karaoke, the pachinko slots, go to Odaiba; they have a cool digital museum there, oh, and the Gundam Statue! Why hasn’t Keith just taken into consideration that if he agrees to duo with Lance he might have the opportunity to experience all of these and maybe more.   
  


Keith studies the temple in front of him. It’s mesmerizing in structure and size. People are spread out everywhere, he can’t really get a good photo of the temple unless there are three large groups of tourists throwing up gang signs at a camera.   
  


Sighing a little displeased, he wrinkles his nose as the scent of strong vanilla bean makes way into his nose. Lance had sidled up beside him, looking, per usual, very _swab.  
  
_

Suppressing a pining groan, Keith makes a quick head to toe flick of his eyes over Lance. He’s wearing such a stylish outfit, like he’s been cut out of a Japanese fashion magazine. A soft black beanie resting nicely on top of his floppy brown hair, black squared sunglasses, a white long shirt paired with black skinny jeans and a long black coat made of thin material slung neatly over his shirt. Holy Mothman, if Keith didn’t know Lance, he wouldn’t have recognized him at all.   
  


“You starin’ at, Mullet?” Lance transitions into a very smug look. The smug fuck, Keith thinks, rolling his eyes as he flings out his phone so that Lance’s very nice garb doesn’t distract him.   
  


Keith keeps his gaze locked on the screen, aiming it up at the temple and snapping a few pics before he sees Lance incoming into his screen. One snap and Lance has posed perfectly in Keith’s picture: standing with his hands in his coat pockets, sunglasses propped low on the bridge of his nose so that you can see his blue eyes avian mimicking the sky.   
  


“Looks good.” Keith compliments him, showing Lance the photo.   
  


The sun is shining down on them, its warmth causing Keith to peel off his own red coat, leaving him in a simple black top and burgundy cargo pants, hoping he doesn’t start sweating bullets when Lance’s smile hits him hard looking absolutely stunning. “Sweet.”  


“Lance, why do you want me to duo with you?” Keith goes straight off the bat, allowing those bullets to shoot at random. He can’t take waiting any longer, even if he wished he had five more cups of coffee running through his bloodstream to give him that adrenaline burst to decide on an answer. But if Lance has a plausible reason, then it’ll be a no-brainer.   
  


In Lance’s hand, he had fished out a Pocari Sweat bottle bringing it to his mouth while Keith jumped the gun with the question causing Lance to do a little spit-take. It looked hilarious, really, like it came straight from a rom-com.   
  


He attempts a new gulp of his drink, wiping away some dribble looking refreshed when his eyes bounce by the reflection of the sun. So brightly blue. Still so effing vibrant as ever, like the sun is shining down on the ocean itself, Keith thinks as his mouth becomes a little unhinged.   
  


“Because.” Is all Lance says in reply.   
  


Earning an incredulous gaze that is so loud from Keith, “What do you mean, _because_ ?! Where’s the reason!? You can’t just say because like that’s a reason in itself. You need to explain.” Keith enunciated the last word slowly, and heated.   
  


Lance sighs harshly, tipping his head down between his shoulder blades. “Do I need to explain everything to get you to stay?”   
  


“Yes!” Keith furrows his brows like Lance should know that that is exactly what he needs to do. It’s so obvious.   
  


“Fine.” Lance slings his bag over his shoulder then punches his hands back into his pockets, “There’s this brand new duo competition being held here in Tokyo. It’s called the _Voltron: Legendary Defender_ Comp-”   
  


“Vol-” Keith clamps his lips shut choking down his remark on the name. Swallowing, he continues, nodding along, “Voltron- right. That sounds….not like a dance competition at all. Rather, it sounds more like a-”   
  


“I know- it’s a weird name. It’s actually based on this pretty wicked Mecha anime that aired, like, back in the 80s with these lion robots that could form this Gundam kind of robot that saves the universe or something like that. And the people who ride the lions are called paladins. Sounds like something my nephew would love- but yeah- the director is a massive fan, loves robots and dancing. Sees us dancers as like his...paladins.” Lance makes air quotes at the last word.   
  


_Paladins._ Huh.   
  


“Still kinda weird.” Keith admits.   
  


Lance nods, “Yeah, but the boomers live for that kind of shit. Eat it right up like some kind of _mukbang_ .” His arms flail in the crisp air at that. “Also, it’s a good excuse to dance in the robotic dance style, might gain some additional points from him.” His thin brown brows raise at that sentiment.  
  


He’s so easy to read. Lance’s brows start to twitch flirtily, because he knows he has Keith now, wrapped tightly around his little finger. Keith loves to dance in that style. Hip hop, pop and locking, it's his best style- he can dance it for hours on end and never get sick of it. Seriously, find a random song and Keith has a hip hop dance routine already in the making during the first 30 seconds.   
  


They’ve stopped by the gates that shelf all the wooden plaques of prayers. Further down the path there is a booth to buy them, costing around 1500 yen; 15 dollars. Keith sprints away for two minutes and comes back holding two wooden plaques for him and Lance to write a prayer on, then hang it up.   
  


A warm smile traces through the crisp air on Lance’s golden face. Once a black marker settles between their thumb and index finger, they get to it. Lance scrawls a novel on his plaque, but Keith can’t make out the words, they’re written in a different language. At that, Keith glares at Lance, pouting. _Cheater_ , he thinks then goes on to figure out how he can be obscure with his prayer.   
  


Hung over a bundle of other wooden plaques, the two of them stare at the black markings on their prayers. “Does yours say the same thing as mine?” Keith asks, staring at Lance from the corner of his eye.   
  


Lance nods. “Yup.”   
  


That’s it. That’s all he says because nothing else is needed to be said. They’re both awfully aware of what it is they both prayed for. Keith wrote his in the little Korean he knew of, from his mother’s side, she is two thirds Korean, his father wholly American, as Texan as one can be. The Yee to the fucking Haw.   
  


“You’re an amazing dancer, Keith.” Lance tells him still standing on his left, bent down to read the other prayers hung in front of them. One of them has a _Hello Kitty_ doodle on it wearing a cute kimono.   
  


Keith raises a suspicious brow, “Okay. I’m listening.”   
  


“I don’t know how else to convince you to stay.” Lance shrugs when he’s back at Keith’s height, arms crossed now. “Aside from saying, again, that this-” He angles his head to Keith, “was meant to be.”   
  


“That faith business again?” Keith scoffs, but with good spirit.   
  


Rapidly, Lance nods, Keith scared his head is going to screw off his neck. “Yes! It is exactly that. Faith- a great expectation.” He goes all novel, the glint in his eyes one made out of a tale of two cities.   
  


“Smooth move, McClain, but isn’t that a book?” Now they are on their way away from the shrine, the temple becoming smaller and smaller behind them- tourists left to keep on throwing gang signs up in the air stealing the best spots for more subtle photos to upload on Instagram.   
  


Lance gives Keith curt look, thinking, “It is?”   
  


“Obviously you don’t read, do ya?” Keith laughs with his throat.   
  


In front of them is a path back to Harajuku, forest on either side blocking the busy streets of Tokyo, “Nah.” Lance says, “I like movies better, and manga-”  
  


“And anime.” Keith adds.  


“ _And_ anime.” Lance agrees.   
  


The hustle and bustle of Japan is back in action when they walk through the insanely tall torii gate, bowing first before walking past of course, to pay their respects to the gods. 

  
“Lance! We’re trailing off topic-” Keith exclaims, gaining an incredulous look from his friend.  


“Right, sorry. Uhm-” He starts walking toward a very touristy destination. “You know who Allura Altea is, right?” Japanese girls in school uniforms run past them. Keith tips his head up and reads a sign that says Takeshita Dori.   
  


It’s fucking packed. Lance wants to go through one of the most cramped shopping streets in all of Tokyo right after he spits out _that_ name. Before Keith goes off on a rampage, he fists Lance’s black coat, the material is so soft, pulls him close so their breath intermingles.  
  


“I knew you had an ulterior motive, dipshit.” Keith says, but scans the situation unfolded now.  
  


Firstly, Keith finally gathers how close Lance is to his face, pop rocks sizzling on his cheeks, then releases Lance in a haste. “I know who she is-” Keith shares low, walking into the shopping jungle, Lance keeping up on his tail.   
  


“So you do know her?” Lance says, his lips spread into a toothy grin.   
  


Keith scoffs offendedly, “Everyone in the dancing _world_ recognizes that name. She’s like the grand supreme in dancing- she’s fucking miss universe in dancing-” He has to scream it because there are just so many people around them.   
  


This isn’t boding well with Keith’s anxiety, but he powers through the hustle and bustle. _They’re just kids,_ he reminds himself not to get too overworked by all noise around him. But then his thoughts wander to Allura- she’s good. Expert in almost every style known in dance, great at dancing solo but, “She specializes in dancing doubles.” Keith says in realization as it all dawns on him, his look one of disparity.   
  


Keith shakes his head.   
  


“Come on, Keith!” Lance whines, stopping by an anime store, browsing.   
  


He keeps his head shaking. “No...Lance, we can’t beat her! The hell you thinking?! We are not on her level of dancing. She’s like Brahma, the almighty, no one knows her true power- she could be dialing down her skill in dance just for kicks and laughs!” Keith runs his mouth, too exasperated and surprised that Lance wants to pair up because he wants to beat the best dancer known to mankind.   
  


Too cute. God, he looks so cute while he holds some kind of anime figure plush in his hands, his expression so adoring. He whips to hand Keith his pout. “But, Keith.” And he has the audacity to whimper at him, too.   
  


“Why me? You can choose anyone else to pair up with you. There are plenty of great dancers out there. What if I didn’t win the comp last night? Would you still want to ask me?” Yeah, he went there. Could be Lance had it planned all along, asking Keith to duo with him, but only if he won the comp.   
  


That burst Lance’s bubble. Rage blazed in a blue flame across his irises. “Now hold up just one fucking second. Who do you think you are, trying to put words in my mouth. I never wanted to ask anyone else to duo with me. The _second_ I learned you were my competitor at the dance comp- I knew I needed to do this with you.”  
  


“Dance with me?” Keith finishes for him, his hands falling to his sides.   
  


Lance puts the plushie back on the shelf. “Yes! And to…” He goes shy. “To keep you here longer. You’re here, Keith. It’s-”  
  


“Don’t say it-”  
  


“Faith.”   
  


Keith sighs heavily. “Oh my lord."  
  


“C’mon. I know you want to, too. I see the passionate flame burning brightly in your eyes. See the way your feet are urging to dance again when music plays in the shops. You want to keep on dancing, so bad. And another comp- it’ll give you that rush I know you love. _And.._ .you’re not happy dancing solo.” Lance then says, catching Keith off guard.   
  


Well then, he thinks he can read Keith that easily. The real truth is that Lance isn’t happy dancing solo. He needs someone to guide him, keep him on the tracks during a routine. Keith knows that there is a necessity for him to learn how to understand that practice is important, he can’t just spurt out on the dance floor and start dancing without a planned routine. It was so easy to see when Lance danced during the solo comp. Both of his dances were improvised, impromptu- maybe no one else saw it, but Keith sure did and it roiled him all the way to the core of dancing heart.   
  


“Tell me why I’m not happy dancing solo.” Keith provokes him, glaring, directing it into the heart of the ocean refusing to be drowned by it.   
  


“Because..” Lance goes on again, “At the club- during the comp, I saw-”   
  


“ _Saw?”_ Keith bites down the word chewing on it.   
  


Playfully, Lance rolls his eyes, a little teasing remark emulating from him. “The passion, you idiot. I didn’t see anything lacking, you’re a marvelous dancer, we both know that. The only thing I saw missing from you was that spark. That spark _we_ had together back when we were 14, dancing on the docks- challenging each other, pretending we had our own ciphers. The spark was just so...smothered when I looked at you dancing at the comp. Everything else was perfect, don’t get me wrong! It’s just that we bring something out of each other when we dance beside each other, Keith. And I know you agree.”   
  


He got him.   
  


Defeatingly, Keith releases his arms. Lance has come close again, his nose threateningly close that the tip wanted to graze a brush against Keith’s. His heart picks up a new unbeatable rhythm. _Abort, abort; mayday mayday, we might not make it folks.  
  
_

“So?” Lance quips. Oh, he’s just so cute when he says it like that. “We need each other. And together, we can beat Allura.” He tries to persuade.   
  


To be completely honest, Keith was already on board the moment he met Lance when he left his hotel this morning. “You’re pretty presumptuous about this…” Keith makes idle chatter, averting a real answer. He likes to fuck with Lance, that’s all.  
  


Lance claps his palms together in front of his nose, bowing his head. “Please, Keith? For me?”   
  


How can he say no to that face? Keith throws a hand on the back of his head, scratching it, “I’ll need a place to stay...a cheap place since I don’t have that much money and my hotel was paid by the comp…”   
  


“Your visa doesn’t expire in three months-” Lance ventures into negotiation, “you can renew it then- the duo comp is in four months. You can live at my place- well, my coach's and his husband’s place. They own this amazing dance studio just two stations away from their place and we can dance as much as we want there! You’ll love them, they’re super nice! Well my coach’s husband is..” Lance grumbles like he’s remembering something annoying.  
  


Keith got only one thing from that spit-fire of information. “You live with your coach?”  
  


Sheepishly, Lance says, “He’s...my tío.”   
  


“Ah.” Now it all makes sense. This was getting interesting. Keith would get to meet Lance’s famous tío, the one he hated as a kid. The one who took no shit from anyone in their family.   
  


The exiled one. Well, from what Lance had vaguely told Keith about him a long time ago. They sort of never spoke of him.   
  


“So? Sound good?” Lance asks, snatching back the anime plushie.   
  


Keith grabs the plushie out of Lance’s hands, he’ll buy it for him, smiling inquisitively.  
  


“It sounds good.”


	17. Chapter 17

The train ride back home was luckily smooth sailing. Lance's heart still beat inconsistently, though, thinking about how packed the train could have been have they left during after-work hours. Let's just say both him and Keith would have been making out with the doors; maybe each oth- Nope, Lance shakes the sudden intrusive lewd thought away.   
  


Been a couple of those these past few days, he thinks. Not that it means anything, right? No. It means nothing. Keith is just a very attractive person he hasn’t seen in a long while so his feelings for his best friend are just scrambling around in his brain, and in his heart.   
  


His home is about 2 stations away, he lives a fifteen minute walk away from Shibuya station, in the district heart of Tokyo itself. They head out of the station with the continuous wave of passers by on the famous crosswalk when the green man lights up and the familiar chirping starts. As they walk over one can spot the endless streets with shopping stores and places to eat. There are also signs  _ everywhere _ splashed deeply and vibrantly in every color shining out through a crystal prism. Anywhere you look while walking around in Shibuya is mayhem.   
  


Terrific, exciting mayhem.   
  


Keith can’t stop rambling about the story of Hachiko, since they had to pass the famous statue of the shiba inu when they left the station’s exit. He seems to be very invested in the story crashing lightly into the residents of Shibuya uttering a cute  _ sumimasen  _ from time to time and it has Lance’s heart leaping like contretemps; in ballet terms, meaning his heart is beating against time. Ballet really did know how to make things sound more poise.   
  


“Aight.” Lance breaks off Keith’s story, his hands still punched in his coat pockets stopping up by a tall building but being towered by the building beside it nonetheless. Japan in a nutshell basically; one finds buildings in all kinds of shapes and sizes cramped up together taking up all available space possible.   
  


With his head tipped up, scoping out his home building, Keith mirrors him. “This your place?” He asks with intrigue.   
  


Lance slides his head on his shoulder to catch Keith still gaping at his building. It is a handsome building, he agrees with Keith’s expression all marveled by it. More than 10 storeys tall, a little old by the paling color of it and stamped heavily with small windows and even smaller terraces. Funny that every apartment in this building has a terrace but they’re not allowed to use them- for safety reasons, ironically enough.   
  


His tío has been living here ever since he married his husband, who is Japanese. So, about ten years or so. He made a steal the moment he moved here and bought a ballet studio to fulfill his back-up dream to become a ballet instructor when he knew his career as a ballet dancer went down the drain, like his husband. Like goes with like. Good thing they’re perfect for each other, and hopefully Keith won’t get grossed out by how lovey-dovey they can be in public.   
  


Fishing out his keys, they both walk into the first hallway, the sliding doors opening automatically for them. Lance always loved to pretend he had the force with him and stick out his hand and close his eyes and the doors would open because of his sick force movements. He resigned on doing that now so Keith wouldn’t find him weird; weirder than usual. And because he remembered how much Keith resented the saga. Lance punches in the passcode to open a new set of automatic doors and to his surprise, he finds Keith doing exactly what he wanted to do two minutes ago.   
  


When Keith opens his eyes catching Lance staring incredulously at him, he asks with some gumption, “What?” Then goes shy, his cheeks flaming gently.   
  


“Thought you hated Star Wars.” Lance snickers, walking past his friend all nonchalant swinging his keys around his finger to then push on the elevator button.   
  


Next to him still with cheeks ablazed, Keith goes sheepish looking away from Lance’s very smug look. “I-” He starts, but they both jump when the elevator dings its arrival, the doors sliding open.   
  


It's empty, and cramped. Lance forgot about that, so him and Keith will be bumping hips until they reach the 12th floor.   
  


_ Shit, shit, shit. _   
  


When he feels a small hip-bump from Keith, Lance does all he can not to make any coarse sounds. He knows that it won’t happen because he doesn’t feel like that for his friend, but it's- well, it's been awhile. That’s it- he’s just very... _ deprived _ .   
  


“When you moved- and then after we lost complete contact..”  
  


“Your fault, not mine.” Lance shoots in, but Keith doesn’t agree.   
  


He fires up at that accusation staring hotly at Lance in the mirror on Lance’s right. “Is not. Your stupid moving spree led our friendship into a dead end. Stupid Cuba and its dumb internet connections.”   
  


“Hey! Don’t diss the country, if you need to blame anyone, blame my father…” Lance criticizes.   
  


Regret washes over Keith’s features, his eyes going from hard to soft in a nanosecond. “Sorry, I’m not blaming anyone...it just happened so unexpectedly. I thought I would have you in my life for, like, ever...that we’d go to high school together, then maybe attend the same dance academy and maybe become-”  
  


“Partners?”   
  


The elevator makes a new ding, startling the pair as the doors slide open presenting them the 12th floor. Still insanely cramped, the hallway seems to grow narrower and narrower the closer they get to Lance’s apartment. Sure, the building looks fancy and tall on the outside, but remember, this is Japan; a country with a population of 132 million; 13 million of those living in the inner ring of Tokyo.   
  


Before they enter Lance’s home, he warns Keith, “Okay, ground rules.” He swifts his expression into serious mode, Keith obliges to listen attentively.   
  


Lance holds up one finger, “First and foremost, we both need to agree that my tío, is an asshole.”   
  


“Why?” Keith laughs the word.   
  


Not having it, he’ll learn why later. Lance continues, “Second, his husband is the bomb and if we ever need anything, we go to him.”   
  


Keith nods to that, smiling with his indigo eyes.  _ God.  _ Then Lance throws up a third finger. Lance is weird, because he throws up his thumb lastly to make a three not how most of the world does. He’s scared Keith might find it odd, but oh well, “Lastly, don’t gloat too much about our careers to them. They both have vulnerable pasts.”   
  


At that, Keith twists into an uneasy face, one he’s not sure how to react at that, and also, given from the spill of loss in that indigo sheen, he might be hurt that Lance would even think he would do such a thing. So, he sighs softly at Keith’s expression clapping a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Not that I think you’re that kind of person, dude. It’s just that, dancing professional is a touchy subject for these two and once you get to know them, I’m sure they’ll share their story. Because...it’s theirs to tell.”   
  


Once he gains a reassuring nod from Keith, Lance unlocks the door, “Tío, Shiro? I’m home, and I brought-”   
  


“Lance!” Lance winces the second his tío’s strict voice implodes his eardrums.  
  


It’s not that they hate each other or anything, they just have that kind of relationship. Sort of like a rivalry, but also this master and apprentice relationship. A coach and his underling, whom he wants Lance to be the best of the best. Even if that isn’t what Lance wants. But he doesn’t have a choice.   
  


His tío is sitting obscenely close to his husband, remote in his hand, pointed to the TV and pressing down on the rewind button and the play button. “Look at this, Lance. You need to work more on your double steps here, and then there’s the matter of your jumps. And don’t let me get started on-” Immediately without even giving him a little breathing space, his Tío is already firing him with complaints and criticism about his dance routines from the night before.   
  


But the firing closes the sooner he sees Keith behind Lance’s back rounding the corner and presenting himself with his hand already on the verge of extending itself to his tío and his husband, but then Keith’s whole face drops to the floor when Shiro, Lance’s other uncle swings his gaze to the pair, a smile resting easily on his pale face.   
  


Keith suddenly capture’s Lance’s collar desperately and pulls him down to ear-shot, “What the fuck, man.” He screeches through a whisper almost impaling Lance with the words.   
  


“What?” Lance furrows his brows, quirking a quick look at his tío and uncle. They send him back with a shrug but are all smiles and amusement.   
  


Then it hits Lance. Keith already knows who they are. 

***

If someone told him that his best friend was living with two dancing prodigies he  _ never  _ would have agreed to live with him.   
  


Like, what the actual fuck? How is it that Lance McClain lives with  _ the _ Adam Viveros and, this is the moneymaker, the gauge-his-eyeballs-out-and-shine-them-up, because he’s married to Keith’s hero.   
  


“Keith! Nice to finally meet you. My nephew never shuts up about you. It’s nice to finally see you in the flesh.” Adam extends a hand to Keith.   
  


Hesitantly, Keith grabs it- he’s sluggish at first with the handshake but then regains his composure and fixes the shake, gripping it tightly, “The-the pleasures all mine. I didn’t know that you were Lance’s tío, he doesn’t really say the nicest things about-”   
  


Lance clears his throat, sending his index finger along his throat at Keith.  _ Oops,  _ wrong choice of words. “Sorry, I mean to say that Lance barely speaks about you. I was never aware that the two of you were related.”   
  


“That’s alright, Keith. I sort of jetted when I was 18 to make something of myself in ballet. His mom, my older sis, wasn’t all that happy about that- well.” Adam’s lips turn into a thin dull line, “It’s a long story, maybe some other time-”   
  


Behind him his husband rests a hand on his shoulder coming closer to kiss his cheek. “Honey, how about you get started on some dinner, I bet the kids are hungry after their trip to...Meiji Jingu? You showed Keith the shrine, L?” Shiro asks Lance punching his hand to Lance’s shoulder.   
  


Keith can’t keep his eyes away from Shiro’s arms. Or, arm. Takashi Shirogane was once an international famous ice skater. He participated in the olympics, representing Japan, for both singles and doubles; has won 4 gold medals, 2 silver and one bronze. Then five years ago, he was in a terrible accident that had him amputating his right arm, never to skate professionally again.   
  


“T-t-t-taka-” Keith keeps on stuttering on his hero’s name, so Lance swings in to help him out.  
  


Well, helping out is an understatement. A big, fat lie, really. “Careful Kogane, your fanboy is showing.” Lance coos a seductive voice in him.  
  


Is he being that loud? He can’t help it that the very man he felt inspired by, has had posters up on his wall at home, is standing half a foot away from him wanting to shake hands with him as well. Keith doesn’t feel sanitary enough to grab his hand. Fuck, he doesn’t feel a good enough dancer to breathe in the same room as him.   
  


But Shiro just takes his hand and squeezes. “We’re glad to have you here, Kiddo.” He says. Something wakes up in Keith. He called him kiddo like they were already best buds. Keith does his best to suppress a girlish squeal, and now, Lance becomes his saving grace.   
  


“How about a house tour?” Lance says to save him, but too late.   
  


“You’re like- like- my, INSPIRATION!” Keith catapults without thinking going completely red all over his face and body. He swears his hand is sweating up a whole monsoon as he’s still interlocked to Shiro’s large hand.   
  


To his side he can see Lance facepalming and groaning teasingly. “C’mon, before your fanboy blows up our house.” He snickers.   
  


“Wait.” Keith shakes Lance off his shirt, then turns to both Adam and Shiro their gazes inquisitive. “Is it okay for me to stay here? I’m not imposing or anything? I can pay rent, dinner; I’ll clean, do the laundry..” He keeps shooting chores he has no problem doing earning a light chuckle coming from Adam, who is in the kitchen area prepping vegetables.   
  


Him and Shiro share an agreeable nod, like they made a good decision. “We’re thrilled to have you here, Keith.” Adam says. Then sends a thick eyebrow raise at his nephew, “Maybe we’ll trade you out with that little shit. He doesn’t lift a finger here.”  
  


“Rude!” Lance sticks his tongue out at Adam.   
  


And Adam reciprocates the action, making a bothered noise along with his tongue sticking.   
  


In which Shiro sighs hard. “Get to the tour, this could go on for while if not.”   
  


Him and Keith share a comforting smile. It’s quite odd, because when the smile was shared it was like him and Shiro had known each other forever. Almost like they could have easily been brothers in a different lifetime. Easing, comforting and uplifting. The things he never got from his own father, but easily found through this man.  
  


_ Odd.   
  
_

Lance begins the tour of the place Keith will be living for the next 4 months. Although, he still hasn’t exactly agreed wholeheartedly on joining the duo comp, but he’ll keep that to himself for the meantime.   
  


“This is the kitchen slash living room.” He presents the room. Adam is in the corner kitchen area now working with the beef they’ll be eating later, and Shiro sitting in the small L-shaped sofa watching TV on an okay sized flat screen.   
  


Then they walk down a short hall, to the left is their room and further down to the right is Lance’s room. There are surprisingly in this apartment three bathrooms. However, there is only one toilet bathroom, the other two are only for showering and bathing in the tub. So, Lance has his very own shower room when you go into his room.   
  


“I know you might have expected a larger place given their occupations, but Japan is crazy expensive when it comes to housing and living spaces, and the closer to Shibuya you live the higher the price. So this is all we got, hope you don’t find it too cramped up.”  


There’s a knock on the door, Adam pops his head into Lance’s room. “Lance-” He seems to always say Lance’s name like it’s tasting fire, “Remember what we discussed.”   
  


“Yeah, yeah. I’ll give him the best bed, don’t worry. I’m not that selfish...I know someone more-” Lance bites his jaw close, but his glare at Adam is still a few degrees warmer than the room itself.   
  


Adam gives a pleased nod, “Good, come on, dinner is ready.”   
  


Before they leave to eat, Keith gives a onceover Lance’s room. It’s spacious enough. There’s a large queen sized bed, with, as predicted, a Star Wars comforter; the door to his personal tub room, and the rest of the room is very... _ Lance _ .   
  


Like posters mapping the walls: some are movie posters (Alien, Star Wars, Dirty Dancing and Shrek) and some are from anime that Keith doesn’t recognize and there are some famous dancers, too, one of them of Allura Altea. Gorgeous on the inside and out from Keith can remember when he followed her on social media, before his anxiety made him log out and uninstall all of his apps. She still looked gorgeous, the memory resurfacing from when she stood next to him at the comp. Hair all shiny and bright curling along her hips. Strong, slim and a holding such a powerful demeanour he wondered if she might have the force within her. Not to reference  _ Star Wars _ , but-   
  


“C’mon, mullet, din-din. Hungry?”   
  


Considering everything that’s been happening within the span of 24 hours it certainly has Keith, “ _ Starving _ .”

***

Keith’s whole body has powered into this endless jittered state. He still can’t wrap his head around the fact that he’s having a casual home-made meal with his hero. And with one of the most known ballet dancers from when he was a little kid. His father- Keith fickles with his chopsticks when that annoying wannabe cowboy saddles into his brain. He can’t stand that guy, but he did used to share the same position as Shiro, once upon a time.   
  


“So.” Keith speaks up, hoping the rugged face of his father dissolves into nothing.   
  


Everyone around the coffee table perks up to Keith’s voice, “Why weren’t the two of you at the comp?”   
  


Lance opens his mouth but Adam beats him to it, “Well, Mr. Bigshot here didn’t want us to come.”   
  


“That’s not how it was.” Lance argues back.   
  


Shiro steps in, “L gets stage fright if we attend his dance comps. He can feel the heavy pressure from us when he’s aware that we’re nearby when he’s dancing-”  


“Judging my every single move…” Lance sprinkles into the convo making a judging expression himself and Adam isn’t having it; he's about to slam his small plate on the table but stops and instead puts it down gently.   
  


Keith should never have asked. He wondered how it got to this though, Lance and his tío’s relationship. It’s obvious they have some heated tension that should be worked out, but maybe it’s just how it is between them; he’s sure they love each other, however whenever dance is involved or even mentioned, things get a bit, shaky. To Keith’s perspective, that is- he doesn’t know the whole truth being hidden behind a fusion of amber and blue.   
  


Two tan fingertips push Adam’s thick rimmed glasses back up on the bridge of his nose, he breathes in sharply, “I respect that Lance didn’t want us there. I know he gets clueless and dances like shit if I’m there.” Adam says bluntly, laying it on thick.   
  


Lance doesn’t react to that like he’s used to that wording. Had it been Keith, though, he’d been shedding tears, his anxiety having a field day with that hit. “So, we saw it on the TV- you were lucky they were showing it.” Adam then glares at his nephew grabbing more dinner from the hotpot.   
  


“Wait a sec.” Keith’s throat closes up, like he can’t breathe. “You’re saying that- that the comp was broadcasted, on TV?!”   
  


Hopefully it was only shown on Japanese channels, but Shiro speaks the truth, “No. Sadly, the dancing community isn’t large enough to be sent nationally on live television, so they sent it on a live stream.”   
  


A live stream?! Keith can feel his eyes asking to jump out from his skull, his heart pounding like crazy and his feet convulsing into melted goo. That can mean that he- “Right.” He shudders the word along his tongue.   
  


“Hey, mullet, everything okay? You looking a little pale there.” Lance asks, poking a chopstick tip in Keith’s cheek.   
  


“Fine.” Keith swallows, grabbing more food even if his stomach is pleading him not to. “I’m fine, it’s all fine. Fine. Fine. Fine.”   
  


“That doesn’t sound fine to me. Tío, I think I’ll ask for us to be excused.”   
  


Adam looks concerned but it’s not his issue, “You’re both excused.” He waves his chopsticks at Lance. “It’s getting late, too, you guys should hit the hay soon. But a little heads up, the studio isn’t free till the day after tomorrow. Maybe get situated in your room and fill Keith in about what’s gonna happen from this point on before going to the studio.”   
  


“Sure. We’ll figure out what to do tomorrow, maybe crunch in some last minute touristy things for Keith before practice takes over our lives.” Lance is dragging Keith away from the table, unaware of anything being discussed; Lance and Adam’s voices are all muffled like someone has stuffed cotton in them. All Keith’s mind is spiraling on is that the comp was live streamed;  _ god, it was live streamed _ . This is bad. So very, very bad.   
  


“Keith, damn you’re heavy.” Lance says to break him out of his alarming trance.   
  


They’re back in Lance’s room. He knows because it smells like him, like perfume and sour cherries. How did he get here? Not important, he sees that Lance is fishing out what looks like a futon from his closet. “Hey, Lance.” Keith calls, the futon sparking something in Keith.   
  


“Yeah?”   
  


"What did Adam mean earlier, by giving me the best bed?" He peers to the queen sized bed. It’s too large for one person to sleep in, Keith thinks, getting a bad idea.   
  


Lance grunts holding the rolled futon in his arms, looking around to where he can unfold it. "Well, as you’ve noticed, we ain’t got the most spacious of apartments, so you and I are gonna coop up together in my room and Adam wants me to be hospitable by giving you my darling;  _ i.e. _ my comfy-as-fuck bed.” He sounds a little agitated by that.   
  


_ Cute. _   
  


Also, just to note, he knows how to use I.E.  


_ Didn’t know he could do that.  _   
  


“I presumed we’d be sharing a room.” Keith calculates, falling down on Lance’s bed and oh dear lord - holy freaking mothman - it  _ is _ comfy. He feels like he’s succumbed to a cloud. “But, we’ve had tons of sleepovers before, shouldn’t be a problem.”   
  


“Never said it was a problem, just, the bed situation-” Now he’s pouting. Lance’s pouts were always loud and prominent; unavoidable as fuck. Screaming for him to get his way.   
  


Keith scrambles around his mind, thinking back to their sleepover days. They were never awkward, per say. But that was before Keith found out he was gay and could get hard by the simplest touch by a cute boy. And Lance was the sole definition of cute boy.  _ Shit. _   
  


“But it’s okay. You’re my guest and I’m pretty much forcing you to do this thing with me...so I’ll take the futon.” His pout has grown bigger the more the brunet realizes he has to sleep on this flat mattress, staring with yearning, puppy dog eyes at his so called,  _ darling.   
  
_

"I feel like I'm imposing Lance-" Keith interjects.   
  


"No! You're not, Keith. I want you..here- I mean, I pushed you to duo with me, this is the least I can do. Okay. Now sleep in my bed, my super duper extremely comfy bed- you know, I just recently bought these expensive silk sheets.." Lance tries to make up for his big fat stupid pouts, but they’re not working. Not one bit; the making up part, to regard; the pouts, doing their job just fine.   
  


"Well-" Keith says, almost yelping, his throat is quivering when he suggests, "It looks like a queen size, and queen sizes are usually made to fit two people." His thoughts trail to a plausible solution for this bedtime debacle.   
  


To which Lance hints, "I mean if- if you don't mind-"  
  


"I wouldn’t! Totally would not-” Keith shouts a little too loud to his liking, trying not to be this obvious pining mess, but he can’t tone down his little excitement. “I wouldn’t mind, Lance. We're best friends, right? Best friends can sleep in the same bed." He persuades heavily, maybe more to himself than Lance.   
  


Lance motorboats viciously through his lips, waving a hand haphazardly, not like he’s getting flustered from this convo at all. “Sure. Only sleep. All that's done in a bed is just sleep anyway (not), so no harm if we both only  _ sleep _ in it...together." Not that he is trying to imply anything else, his exhale coming out a little rigid.  


Or is he?  
  


"My thoughts exactly." Keith concedes, smacking a vacant spot on the bed for Lance to sit down next to him.   
  


_ WHAT ARE YOU DOING, KEITH? THOSE WERE NOT YOUR THOUGHTS AT FUCKING ALL.   
  
_

The comfy mattress grows heavy when Lance plops down where Keith smoothed an implication for him. They share a smile, maybe a little longer than anticipated, and Keith can’t keep his stupid blush smothered so he falls onto his back and throws a pillow in Lance’s face to hide his blazing complexion.  
  


Sleep. They’re just going to sleep. In the same bed. Together. For 4 whole months.   
  


Fuck. 


	18. Chapter 18

It’s too hot tonight. So unbelievably hot. And it’s not even March yet. How can it be this hot even with the window open and the sounds of cars driving past hurdling Keith’s ears like they’re trying to provide Keith with more chilling wind?   
  


They haven’t gone to sleep yet. Lance doesn’t want to go into details about the comp until tomorrow. Wants to wander the streets of Harajuku again and find a café they can find leisure in before getting down to business.   
  


Fine by him, Keith thinks. He’s gone through enough already today. Good thing he hardly brought that much luggage. Lugging his red suitcase around the shrine today had been the least of his worries but now that he’s aware that he’s going to be living here for the next four months, he’s wondering if it might be possible to borrow any of Lance’s clothes. Also wondering if they’ll smell like him. Picturing Lance’s bare fit body beneath them.   
  


_ Nope! _ Don’t go there, horny Keith.  


Lance is in the bathroom. Keith is aware of the fact because he can’t stop whistling the tune to Ghostbusters for the life of him in there and as soon as he opens that door Keith’s going to wring his hands around his neck and make him promise never to whistle that annoying tune ever again.   
  


What is it with this boy and 80s flicks? Every square inch of Lance’s room is like a shrine made for the genre; either in form of well-known sci-fi movies or weird mecha animes. He recognizes one anime, though: _Mobile Suit_ _Gundam_. Never seen a Gundam show in his life but he remembers how much Lance loved them, always talking about their mechanics and so forth. Such a nerd. _A cute nerd nonetheless_.   
  


Shrek’s bright green face bores into Keith’s soul the more he intensifies his stare at the poster while waiting for Lance to finish up in the bathroom. It’s like he can read Keith’s mind, studying that delirious crooked smile on the green ogre. The bathroom door opens, finally, flinging Keith away from Shrek’s secretive gaze.   
  


He can feel his heart start to pump. Picking up pace faster and faster as Keith can’t keep his look away from Lance. The blue devil is standing in the door opening wearing loose fitting blue sweats, and,  _ and  _ nothing is covering his torso. Nothing is covering his torso. Meaning, that Keith can eyeball his friend’s insanely toned stomach. Like, he can see clearly the lines that define each single square of his six pack.   
  


Keith gulps. “I-is it free?” He points to the bathroom.   
  


Looking over his shoulder, Lance thumbs the wet room. “Yeah.” He breathes, and Keith can’t look away. He cannot look away. His eyes can’t seem to unstick from Lance’s very nice looking body. Like yeah, Keith knew his friend had a great body, remembering that they’re both dancers, but seeing it up close,  _ alone, _ to share that fact, it has his own body spazzing.   
  


Behind him, he can feel Shrek laughing with that stupid Scottish accented laugh at him; Keith can feel his stomach threatening a third world war. So before he decides to charge and rips down the poster, he makes a beeline past Lance and smacks the bathroom door shut on him.   
  


Trying to regain his frigid breathing, calming down the hurricane in his gut, Keith tries to listen in on Lance from the other side of the door. His eyes lid slowly in relief, didn’t seem like Lance noticed anything odd when he hears pop music playing from his phone. Keith listens in. It’s a song by Mabel.  _ Mad Love _ . He sighs blissfully, he loves that song so much. There’s just the right beat to it that has his hips automatically swaying to the rhythms, offering his body with the right dance moves, like he has a whole routine completed for it within the span of the first ten seconds.   
  


While he washes up, his body continues rocking on autopilot, dancing in what space available in the wet room. His hair swishes from side to side all tousled and wet after his shower, booty banging hard from side to side; he’s so in love with what he’s doing and can’t seem to find an off switch anywhere on his person. The music has taken over him. Lance has taken over him, he knows it and it’s like he’s under a spell that’s non-reversible.   
  


Still under his transic state, he startles back from submission when he hears a cacophony of knocks on the door. “Mullet! Open up, I know what you’re doing! I want in.” Lance demands.   
  


Keith doesn’t open up at first, wondering what Lance is on about. But then a new series of knocks turns into a confluence of disturbance in his brain and he finally opens the door- “What are you on about?! Can’t you see I’m getting ready for bed?” Keith barks at his friend, forgetting, when he looks down, that he’s still nude after his shower.   
  


His eyes grow big from the sudden display, heart beating a million miles per second, then slams the door this time in Lance’s nose. There’s a single double-knock on the door. “ _ Relax _ , mullet, I’ve seen your peen before. Get dressed. I wanna dance before we go to sleep.” Lance says all relaxed on his side of the door.   
  


Easy for him to say, he doesn’t have a massive crush on Keith, not like Keith has on-  _ Fuck _ .   
  


So, this is when he finally realizes.  _ Finally _ realizes. Understands the math. Placed out refinely to him on a nice silver platter where there is a cake that spells out: “I like him.” Keith says, barely audible to the outside world. He slides down the bathroom door, trying to pin prick when it was that he was aware that his feelings for Lance were actual feelings.  _ Feeling _ feelings.   
  


The club? No. 

The Shrine? Nope. 

The comp? Not a chance.   
  


The arcade, when they met on the first day?   
  


_ Bingpot _ ! He smacks his hands to his face releasing a strangled embarrassed yelp. He can’t go back out there now. Not when he knows Lance is on the other side. He can’t sleep in the same bed as him. Hell, fuck, shit, he can’t stay here for four whole months; dance with him. Dance on him, maybe? Their bodies are going to press up against each other, he knows it and when that happens, Keith doesn’t know what he can and cannot stop. His lips or what’s below the belt? Sooner or later, Lance  _ is  _ going to find out.   
  


Hell, fuck, shit.  
  


“Mul-let. You’re taking  _ forever _ . Like longer than my skin-care routine, didn’t know that was possible. Huh, maybe that’s why your hair is alway so silky and shiny. Show me your ways instead. Now, open up.”   
  


Keith opens up, looking displeased. But Lance doesn’t seem to make light of his frown. “So. How about that dance?” Lance suggests, bouncing on his bed with his bottom like a child on a sugar high.   
  


“Yeah, let’s dance.” Keith answers wryly; and all he’s thinking is: as long as they don’t press up on their bodies, he’ll never know. 

***

Lance is booting up his computer so they can watch some Netflix before going to sleep. It’s 12AM. Keith’s black fitbit is glaring 00:00 indicating that it is, in fact, midnight. Military time can go fuck itself, he thinks, waiting for Lance to just pick a movie.   
  


The bed is as comfy as ever. Keith has succumbed in the comfiness to a mental agreement that his first night sleeping next to his friend - now crush - is going to end up in flames. Red, hot, sizzling flames sent up from the deepest depths of purgatory. He’ll have to try with all of his might not to think about him. Think about his mad blue eyes. His peachy, defined lips. Equally defined, very taste worthy toned stomach; calves, arms, thighs-  _ God, _ now he’s done it.   
  


Gritting his teeth, Keith starts to think about things that turn him off: Disgusting toenails, wrinkly old people, blue cheese (can’t stand that shit), pineapple on pizza- his boxers begin to slacken the moment he starts to sigh with relief.   
  


But when he opens his eyes, he catches Lance staring at him. “Lance?” He says his name as an implore.   
  


“Keith?” He answers with equal imploration.   
  


Does he know? No. No way. They have separate blankets. They’re at least a foot apart, the bed is huge. And the laptop is taking residence on Lance’s lap, keeping him distracted from Keith’s  _ growing _ situation.   
  


“Find a movie now?” Keith asks.   
  


“Your boner gone now?” Lance smirks.   
  


Dammit.   
  


Keith sends a hand violently in Lance’s face. “Just put on the movie!”   
  


When Lance’s cute giggling becomes residue in Keith’s ears, he can’t help but wish he could gather him into his arms now; pull him into his body, shape him with his own body. Pepper his neck in kisses, glide his knuckles along his spine, lay a flat palm on his stomach, turn him around and kiss him like he means it. Tell him that he likes him. Likes him alot.   
  


But Lance clearly doesn’t feel the same way.   
  


He snaps out of his melancholy when he feels a vibration of heat through his blanket. Lance and his inhuman body heat has magically appeared closer to him than when they initially laid in his bed. For some reason, Lance has scooched closer to the middle of the bed, and so has Keith.   
  


_ Magically.   
  
_

“So...is horny Keith sound asleep now?” Lance teases, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips.   
  


If Keith hadn’t figured out his feelings for his friend, he’d pulled him into a chokehold, but then horny Keith would definitely wake up from his slumber. Let’s try to keep him asleep for as long as possible.   
  


Keith rolls his eyes replying with a very well-made excuse, “I’m a guy, Lance. You’re a guy...sometimes we get a little... _ excited _ .”   
  


“Knowing you’re in bed with me, it’s totally understandable.” Replies Lance, but his blue eyes flick to the side, his look somewhat wiry like he didn’t mean to say that out loud.   
  


_ Interesting.   
  
_

“ _ Shrek, _ Lance?!” Shouts Keith to disturb Lance’s little thinking state, thumbing and sliding the laptop so that it’s placed perfectly between them.   
  


They’re leaned up against the headboard, both snuggled under each their own blanket, but observing Lance’s naked arms and naked chest, Keith’s aware to the fact that Lance’s either sleeping in those loosefitting sweats, or, his boxers. Too much to process. His brain is going to start hyperventilating for him if he keeps on picturing Lance almost naked.  
  


Lance doesn’t seem to agree with Keith’s tone when he comes to, “‘Scuse me, but,  _ Shrek 2 _ \- note, mullet, this is numero dos and it has Jaime Lannister in it (in other words - Prince Charming).”   
  


“You’re right, he is hot.” Keith easily agrees allowing Lance to proceed with pressing play.  
  


Except he doesn’t press play quite yet. “I never said-” Lance strangles out, clearly trying to tell Keith that he doesn’t swing that way, and it is indeed grinding Keith’s gears.   
  


As so, he states with finality, “It’s just common knowledge, Lance.”   
  


Winning him over, Lance squints at Keith for two whole seconds before his features soften; the crinkles in his eyes slackening, his smile tugging into a defeated grin. “Whatever. Just keep that hard-on of yours lax, unless Shrek’s green face gets you riled up.” He punches back, ripping out a loud cackle like he won some kind of argument.   
  


This time, though, Keith does pull Lance into a chokehold. “I yield! I yield, mullet.” Lance counters through a series of choking noises; like music to Keith’s ears.   
  


When the movie is about halfway through, Keith has a sudden epiphany. Now they’re both relaxed into their respectable sides of the bed, the laptop still placed in the middle for them to be able to see the movie. Lance has his long, bare leg wrapped over his blanket. Keith is all tucked up under his resembling a blanket burrito.   
  


He slides his eyes to Lance, who looks as drowsy as someone having a  _ Shibuya Meltdown  _ (google it). “Hey, Lance?” Keith speaks up through the chatters of the movie.   
  


Lance perks up, but still looks adorably sleepy. “Yeah?” He grumbles, waving his knee right to left keeping himself awake.   
  


“I know we both agreed it wouldn’t be a problem sleeping in the same bed and all, but, like, what if our feet touch?” Keith explores, feeling his own lids anchoring down. Why did he need to ask this sudden question? It’s not like feet touching is a bad thing...  
  


“Well, then we have to fuck.” Lance states matter of fact. He sounded serious, too.   
  


Keith chokes on his reply, shuffling in the bed so his feet can escape Lance’s toesies.   
  


Lance sits up when he feels Keith squirming away, lasering him down with sapphire blue eyes in the darkness, “ _ Kidding _ -” He chomps down on the word, a short scoff leaving his throat, “learn to hear a joke, mullet.  _ My God _ .”   
  


“Okay, buuut-” Keith has a lot on his mind right now.  
  


_ Stop it, Keith! Just. Stop.  
  
_

“But... _ what _ ?” Lance bristles, yet sounding very intrigued. This conversation has seemed to...escalate.   
  


“What if your hand grazes my butt?”   
  


_ Keith, why the hell did you ask that? You so want to implement something, huh?   
  
_

Lance’s leg escapes and he starts tucking his blanket more under his body, laughing as loud as he feels permitted to without waking Adam and Shiro- “You honestly think I’m gonna touch your butt?”   
  


“I dunno. I know I’m not going to touch yours so just wanna be sure it’s mutual.” Keith accentuates, knowing full well that  _ that _ is the biggest lie he’s told himself so far in his 22 almost 23 years of living.   
  


Lance looks mortified this time- offended almost, scoffing wholeheartedly at Keith, “Exsqueeze me, my butt is  _ amazing _ ! I wouldn’t be mad if you were just a little bit curious to feel these buns. Haven’t you  _ seen _ my butt!?” Then he rips his blanket off to balance himself on the bed and smack his butt presenting the sheer roundness and bounce to it (he is in his boxers, by the fucking goodbye)- it is a nice looking butt, Keith seems to agree, feeling his lips drag down at the corners and nodding a fraction,  _ and  _ something lifting skywards.  
  


Thank god it’s dark in here.   
  


“Keith?” Lance is still standing, arms crossed agitatedly and is seriously waiting for a real answer. “Keith.” He repeats, dragging on the vowels, his feet sinking lower and lower in the mattress bringing Shrek along for the ride.   
  


What is he supposed to say? That he really does like Lance’s butt? He does, yes, but how to say it without hinting about his stupid crush? Lance is impatient as ever rocking the bed with his legs making Keith a little squeamish.   
  


“Alright, yeah, yes-  _ definitely. _ You have an amazing butt. Women  _ and _ men would be jealous not to have the buns you possess.” Keith finally answers, wishing there was a pit opening up underneath his own butt for him to sink into.   
  


Pleased with that answer, Lance slides and sinks back down under his blanket, “Thank you. Yours is cute, too.”   
  


“What, only  _ cute _ ? After I compared every single person on this planet to your amazingly shaped ass-” Keith scoffs, irate with only receiving a measly little  _ cut _ e on his own bun-tastic ass. He worked hard to get it shaped like that. Worked his ass off (no pun intended).  
  


Keith is able to trace Lance’s face through the darkness, his teeth blinding their own path to him. Lance snickers, “I think we’ll be okay. Let’s just watch out that our feet don’t wander on their own.”   
  


Shrek is put away now that their little squabble is resolved and Lance overthrows himself to the land of dreams the second his head hits the pillow, leaving Keith alone with his thoughts again. All he does is lightly pull a corner of his lip, feeling the tickle of his lashes when his eyes lid. Their conversation replaying in his mind as he too, ceases to the darkness.  
  


Still sound asleep, something pulls Keith brutally away from his dream. Both lids pry open, Lance’s room enfolding him. He doesn’t remember what his dream was about, all he knows that it was strong enough to jolt him from his deep slumber.   
  


It’s still dark, he gathers. The window is still open and he can hear cars zooming by. He can also hear a light snore next to him. Right next to him. Like not even an inch away from his body. He doesn’t know what to do, but Lance has seemed to roll over to Keith’s side of the bed, his face buried in Keith’s neck.   
  


Keith carefully, ever so gently, rolls to face his friend. His eyes have adjusted to the darkness and he can now fully trace out the contours of Lance’s face. Something builds in his chest. Not like a marching band, or a fourth world war or anything, more like, a steadiness.   
  


Serendipity blisses his beating chest causing his heart to flutter for all the affection he feels while he discovers Lance’s soundful sleeping state. If he could lay like this forever he’d do it in a heartbeat. He wouldn’t need to dance anymore. He’d give up his passion to be able to linger in this scene for all the time the universe will give him.   
  


The bed starts shaking, Lance suddenly starts shifting, his mouth chewing sleepily, a new long snoring exhale releasing and then he turns swiftly to his other side, facing away from Keith. And now all Keith can see in the dark are white lines shaping a large starburst on Lance’s back.   
  


His scar.   
  


Once, a long time ago, Lance told Keith the story of how he got the scar on his back. It’s large, unseemly large like someone aimed a firework at it and it bloomed from the middle of his spine tracing with jagged edges along toward his ribs. It was an accident, how he got his scar. A stupid, unthinkable accident. Never meant to happen, but Lance was once a stupid 13-year-old.   
  


Shakily, Keith takes his fingers and smooths them along Lance’s scar. Barely pressing down not to wake Lance up but enough to send the tenderness Keith has stored inside of him for the boy through the flow of his fingertips. Then he takes his fingertips that charted Lance’s scar and places them hotly on his own scar; the one on his cheek.   
  


His chest bursts at the touch. Erupts and flourishes as Lance’s body heat sinks into him.   
  


Together with their scars, they are one, Keith likes to meander on. And through their passion for dance, they will always be one. And in the end, they will prevail. They will win. Show them all what this feeling is like.   
  


Keith finally knocks himself out.   
  


Something heavy is weighting Keith down. Trying not to feign any morning grumpiness, or grogginess, Keith wrestles his eyes open to the blinding sunlight shining in Lance’s room. Again, he feels something weighing on top of him. He glances to his side, and yep, Lance has managed to snuggle himself up against Keith’s back, shaping him with his own body. God he looks so cute when he’s not yapping with that bawdy mouth of his; if Keith owned any guts, he’d lean in. But of course, he doesn’t.   
  


Must be the sleep that did this to him, Keith equates and proceeds to drag Lance’s draping arm away from his body along with the rest of Lance’s body rolling him back to his side of the bed.   
  


Lance’s body reacts unconsciously to Keith’s pushing and shoving and rolls to his side without any further issue. Not once does he wake up either,  _ the monster _ .   
  


Speaking of monsters, Lance’s door gusts open revealing Adam in the doorway wearing what only antagonists in movies wear along their lips. Him and Keith meet eyes, then that smirk deepens into something only Keith can yet again describe as a calamity about to strike.   
  


“Boys! This is your wake-up call.” Adam sing-songs, staring Keith down as his canines protrude through his sadistic smirk, glasses living their own maniacal life.   


He’s holding a pan and a wooden spoon close to each other. Something moves in the bed and Keith sees that Lance is wide awake now, aiming a helpless expression at him already on the verge of covering his ears. “Lance, get your ass outta the bed! 5,4,3-” Adam countdowns, that look now made purely to torture his nephew.   
  


“Brace yourself, mullet. He does this every morning to torment me and show who’s boss.” Lance explains grimly, his hands now fully covering over his ears, face scrunched bracing himself for the incoming, ear-splitting impact.   
  


Keith doesn’t know what to do other than mirror Lance and cover his own ears. Then Adam goes crazy with the pan. He bangs and bangs and bangs at it while laughing like a mad man.   
  


“Adam! We get it, we’re awake! We’re awake, now get the fuck out!” Lance yells, being provided with ammo and shooting pillows at his tío till he finally leaves the room.   
  


He doesn’t leave until he informs the boys, “If you go back to sleep then no one gets my delicious fluffy pancakes.” And the door closes shut.  


“See, my ass is amazing, everyone is after it.” Lance resumes to say all sleepily, one eye open looking at Keith with a small tired smile traced along his lips.    
  


Keith just rolls his eyes smacking the last pillow on his friend. 


	19. Chapter 19

Something’s happening with Lance’s chest. Something he’s been battling tooth and nail with ever since Keith came back into his life with a toe-leaping, foot swinging bang. Funnily, he can tell for sure what it is. But does he want to admit it, though? That’s a harsh no. Not a chance is he doing a reality check at the moment. Specially in the situation they’re placed in. Not only that, they’re best friends! Best friends don’t need to interrupt each other’s lives like that. Just...not right now when times are as pressing as they are. 

In all seriousness, they have a duo competition to win. They have an abnormal dancing parasite to burn alive; i.e.: a white-haired perfectionist that thinks the stage is all hers, when in re- _fucking_ -ality, it belongs equally as much to Lance, too. 

No need to go there right now, he’s over her. _Done. Finito_ . That’s two long-ass years he’s never being given back, so might as well make the most of it and beat her sorry perfectionist ass. That perfect, well-rounded, bounce-a-penny-off that ass. Lance gulps when he picture’s her body in his mind’s eye, feeling something below his belt... _twitch_. 

See. Whatever it is that’s happening in his chest has nothing in particular to do with the raven-haired boy he calls best friend. It’s just been a while since they’ve seen each other and Lance was only happy to see him again; to rejoice their former best-friends-ever relationship and re-spark that friendship by, you know, forcing him to stay almost half a year longer, and, compete in a comp with him.

Shit. Shit. Shit. They have to dance _with_ each other, he knows that. But if it’s any more intimate than how they’ve danced together so far, he doesn’t know what his chest is going to do against him. Blow up like a firecracker? Create the world’s most destructive hurricane and call it: _The Lance?_ Who knows, he’ll just have to be cautious from this day forward until the duo comp is finally over and he can stick his first place trophy up that snooty goddess’ perfect- 

He stops in front of his closet, trying to fish out anything worth wearing for him and Keith’s day out in sunshiny Harajuku again. Therefore he tosses all of the negative thoughts about _her_ away with the rest of the no-good clothes he can’t wear today. Looking good is what matters at the moment, so he finally finds a pair of washed out skinny jeans and a dark marine shirt. His favorite. 

Next to the shirt, he sees a similar one in red. Keith’s favorite color. _Keith._ Last night really was something. What Keith doesn’t know is that Lance was wide awake when he pushed his fingers along Lance’s back, tracing his scar whispering words under his breath as if Lance were under a slumbering spell. 

The words that came out of Keith’s mouth were barely audible though, but Lance was able to feel them caress his skin, their letters form into an affection along his spine, almost like they were healing his scar, making the striking white lines that define his idiocracy disappear slowly but securely. 

He’ll take those words and lock them in his heart space until the comp is over. No use delving into that right now, he doesn’t even know what the words really mean to Keith. Are they legit? Maybe he was chanting the words thinking about someone else. Despite that, Lance still isn’t over…

“Going to the kitchen!” Informs Lance. 

“Sure thing! I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Keith says all muffled from the wet room. 

Before Lance walks out, his eyes catch red. “Keith! There’s a red shirt on the bed, you can borrow it if you wanna.” 

“Thanks, man!” 

_Thanks, man._ See, someone who chants _I like you, I like you, I like you_ while charting their back with loving fingers can’t mean to imply that he likes Lance. He said: _thanks, man_. People who who have feelings for you don’t respond like that. But what does Lance know, this is the first time a boy has ruptured his chest. 

_A boy_. 

But not just any boy. 

Lance shakes his head roughly to fight away the soft memories of the night before, but is met with a worser case when he walks into the kitchen. “Oh my god! You deliberately come into my room and literally pull my ear drums outta my skull just for me to see you two suck face. I don’t need this kinda PDA so early in the morning.”

Caught in the limelight, both Adam and Shiro have been found making out on the kitchen counter. Adam’s butt resting on the counter, Shiro smacked between his thighs trying to see what Adam’s tongue tastes like. _Yuck, gross, don’t need this right now._

“Well, you were taking forever so we just wanted a little appetizer before breakfast.” Counters Adam.

Sending him an unimpressed look, knowing that was a lame excuse. “Think about the apples!” Lance says incredulously, gesturing a worried hand at the bowl of fruit next to Adam’s ass. 

“The apples?” His uncles question simultaneously.

“Then think about me!” Ugh, he’s not making any sense, he’s aware of that.

“Lance, you see us like this every morning.” Adam leers at his nephew, his arms still tightly wrapped around his husband’s neck all set to pull him back in, obviously not done with his snack. 

“Afternoon. Night. The occasional middle of the night bathroom break…” Lance sneaks in. 

Not his fault that he’s as single as a pringle, it’s just that after the night he’s had, some PDA isn’t giving his chest any rest. In fact, it’s stirring up that hurricane he was afraid was going to blow him up from the inside out. 

He must still look angry when Adam quips back, “If you’re gonna keep on complainin’, then go mooch off of someone else’s apartment.” 

Well, that got Lance to shut up. 

Shiro plants one loving peck on Adam’s lips, smiling all dorky at him before he turns to Lance. Adam has hopped off the kitchen counter setting the table with plates and finding the maple syrup and butter. “You know he doesn't mean it, L. You just know exactly what buttons to push.” Shiro enlightens, calming the tornado that has broken out. 

“Push and never stop pushing.” Adam shoots in irritatingly. 

Lance and Adam share an afflicted zap, “I know that.” He says. “It’s just easier to yell at me than be civil.” Both him and Adam turn their gazes to Shiro now, both their brows raised in compromise.

“It’s how we share our love, right Lance?” Adam says, features softening, a smile lugging along his lips. 

“Sure is, tío.” 

Now that that expected family feud has come to a close, Lance starts helping his tío out setting the table, the delicious aroma of pancakes causing his belly to sing. He could admit to them that he was only jealous of them making out in the open like that, showing off their love, but that would wake up an incoming rush of questions; both about his past relationship and his current. Current, as in, still very single but starting to develop something that he knows he doesn’t have the time or energy to focus on at the moment. So, exploding and thundering on his horny uncles was the right way to go. 

Once they’ve found their respectables spots around the low table, Shiro perks up looking over his shoulder. “Hey, where’s Keith?” 

That’s right. Keith. The boy who Lance sees as a friend. _Like a friend. Like a friend_. 

“He get pretty banged up from Adam’s stupid wake-up call?” 

“Don’t call it stupid, Tak.” Adam pouts, pulling at his husband’s collar. “Call it rather, effective.” He says, kissing his husband’s cheek. 

“Effective, fine. But he’s been gone a while.” Shiro continues. 

Thinking about it, Keith has been in the bathroom awhile. Maybe Lance should go find him. “Nah- he was pretty startled but he was in the bathroom changing last I checked. I think he’ll be out soon.” 

“Speaking of…” Adam opens his big mouth. “I noticed none of you used the futon.” And now he’s eyeing Lance all indictingly, like he’s got him backed up in a corner. 

Lance sighs, grabbing the maple syrup. “We wanted to watch a movie and fell asleep, don’t pester me. You gonna report a crime, you two sleep in the same bed!” 

“Yeah, but we’re married and in love.” Adam cuts in, angling his head waiting for a more plausible explanation. 

“What? Two guys can sleep in the same bed, and we’re best friends.” 

Shiro is the one who speaks, “Just be careful, L." Then he steals the syrup from Lance. 

Nothing is making sense, Lance furrows his brows at his uncles. “Careful with what?” 

Adam and Shiro share a look. It’s hard to make out, like they know something he doesn’t and don’t plan on elaborating. _Tiresome._

“Keith’s feelings.” Shiro finally says, voice quite, unexpectedly, serious. He even looks serious, his usual soft expression now made for a dog-fight; his scar running across his nose does not make his expression any better. 

Looking over his shoulder for a split-second, Lance mutters back, still not grasping the case, “Wha-what does that even mea-” 

He sees Shiro’s eyes flash silver. 

“Keith! Come, pancakes are ready. Hungry?” Adam calls, giving Lance a _shut-up_ look, his amber eyes bulging behind his thick-rimmed glasses. 

They know something Lance doesn't know. Or, that’s what they think. Lance is smarter than people suspect him to be. There’s not only amazing dance moves or sci-fi movies replaying in his head. Way more to it than that. But fine, let them be cryptic, Lance didn’t want to linger on this kind of shiz anyways. They have a duo to win and a witch to burn on the dancefloor. 

Feelings can be discussed later. 

  
  


Unless it’s too late. 

  
  


***

Sitting next to each other on the train to Harajuku sparks a new memory in Lance. The cab ride home after the club. What really did happen to them during that ride? Like, sure, Keith was all adorable looking and just being himself. But something, again, exploded inside Lance’s chest. 

Be it flowers, butterflies, moths or bees, something fluttered, flourished or buzzed in his lungs then crept into his gut taking ahold of him and twisting everything within their vicinity. Just one look at Keith that night and Lance was under a trance. Spellbound by his beautiful indigo eyes. Like he’s being pulled ten thousands leagues under the sea, the monster in the deepest darkest pit slithering its tentacle on his shin and kept on pulling him under until he admits that he really does…

“Nope!” Lance bellows, startling Keith, and the masses of people in the train. 

A groan zips out from his throat, nodding his head to the crowd in apology for his sudden shouting. He feels a hand tugging his sleeve, “Everything alright, man?” Keith asks, smiling when they meet eyes. 

Christ, those indigo eyes sure know how to puncture a beam right into his stupid chest. Is it getting hot in here or is Keith just looking absolutely gorgeous in red? His eyes pop perfectly contrasting the bright fiery color of the shirt he borrowed. Let alone his silky smooth raven hair that smells, again, like violets. If Lance could card his fingers through it, he’d do it, but then again, that would mean admitting…

He feels a constriction in his chest again, a tightness in his throat like his heart has hopped up in there. How the hell is Lance going to survive four whole months with Keith? Survive seeing him look like _this_ every day, train with him, come up with routines with him, dance along side him, up against him, eat with him, sleep with him. Not with him, but, next to him, in the same bed, for four whole months. 

What the hell happened in Lance’s brain that day he asked Keith to duo with him? Honestly, he did not think things through. 

Keith’s a guy! A boy with a third limb (not a small limb either, hoho) hanging between his legs like Lance has. Lance has never felt something like this for the same sex before. _Never._ Sure, he can easily admit that some males have caught his attention, but they were overtly pretty looking. Long-ass lashes, puckering pink lips and a build that’s hard to decipher. It’s like their masculinity was masked by their sheer beauty that Lance couldn’t see if they were male or female. But with Keith, he knows how male the boy is. And he doesn’t...never really did learn what Keith preferred sexually. Men, women, none of the above? Maybe he’s a-sexual, a-romantic; which he'd be totally fine with but Lance doesn’t want to pry into his friend’s love-life when not once has Keith brought it up, either. 

It’s all so unwittingly frustrating. This feelings business. 

Be that as may, Lance doesn’t even know anymore where he himself swings. If it’s only Keith he feels this way for, there must be some other kind of explanation than lov-

Ugh, why couldn’t they 14 again? Everything was so much simpler back then. 

His head starts boiling by all this speculation. Lance needs a drink soon or else he’ll topple over and throw in the towel.

“Hey, Lance?” Keith successfully pulls him out of his estranged entanglements.

“Mm?” It’s still too early, feeling his eyelids drooping, head throbbing like a ticking time bomb; Lance needs at least 8 hours of sleep to function just a hair, but since him and Keith were up discussing possible footsies last night and being fondled on his back he didn’t get much sleep, and it was hot as hell with Japan’s odd shifting weather. 

There’s still one more station before they can escape this suffocating crowd resembling his mind at the moment, but he keeps his gaze locked on Keith. 

“There’s one thing I still can’t understand?” Keith says and it has Lance’s interest piqued nonetheless. 

Could it be Keith is as mind-boggled as he is? 

Lance stares pensively at his friend, “Go on.” He pushes, and Keith huffs out a surprisingly loud breath. 

“What I don’t understand is, how you let your tío harass you like that. Like, how do you survive living with him in constant banter and name calling? And don’t get me into his version of an alarm clock...” 

Okay, so, not exactly what Lance thought Keith was going to rant about. 

It takes Lance a while to respond. The train finally stops at their station and while they walk out Lance is still scanning his brain for a suitable answer. Suitable enough not to make his answer too touchy-feely, or too, asking for sympathy of any sort. Once they make it outside to the shopping district of Harajuku, Lance fists the palm of his hand like he’s finally got an answer. 

First, before he says anything, he drags Keith to a tall, glass-made building. “A neko café?” Keith murmurs questioningly. Lance knows Keith’s more of a dog person, but he loves this café, and the Shiba Inu café is on the other side of town. 

Inside, cats are seen everywhere. There are scratching posts further than the eye can see, towers for cats to rest in, tables for customers to sit and drink their beverages and toys for the cats to play with the customers. They spot all kinds of different breeds of cats, not that they know any of them, but one thing they both can agree on, they’re all adorable and fluffy and Lance wonders why he isn’t playing with a cat already! 

Before the tale of his tío unveils, Lance and Keith are given their beverages: piping hot roasted coffee and a frothy vanilla bean latte. Smells delicious up close but mixed with the smell of cat, Keith’s nose circles into chagrin. He decides to keep his coffee close to his senses to mask out the smell of cat. Lance smiles at the sight before him; Keith does resemble a cute kitten, he realizes, and of course his heart does a triple toe-leap at that thought and Lance certainly needs an emergency exit to help him escape the thought. 

“Now, Lance...wanna share anything or-?” Keith inhales his roasted coffee, his obvious constricting neck repressing a pleased moan; his coffee does smell rich and inviting. 

Lance plays with one of the fluffy cats, cooing compliments at it, but he gets into it since Keith asked so nicely. 

“So, my tío, Adam, is a piece.” Lance informs like that’s not new. 

“Okay?” Keith finally takes a sip of his beverage and now he slips out a small moan.

_Easy there, cowboy._

The cat Lance is cuddling jumps on its hind legs to swat at the toy Lance is flinging at it, he sends out a bubbling laugh, “Yeah, so...he has baggage. Like a lot, enough to pack and unpack for a tour around the globe twice.” Lance doesn’t pay attention to Keith while he talks. Instead he keeps his eyes focused on playing with the cat. Keith may seem bothered by it in some way, so Lance continues, “Our relationship is...an uncanny kind of thing, at least to most people. He treats me like his little brother. There is only 6 years between us so I wouldn’t say he’s all that much more mature than I am, but he has Shiro. And Shiro is the most mature person I know. He’s sort of-” 

Lance shrieks when the cat goes ferally aggressive as soon as it has its claws on the toy. “tamed my tío. Well, some of him...there’s still alot of anger residing inside him and I guess he sometimes likes to take it out on me.” 

And boy oh boy does Adam love to take it out on Lance. After living for a while with him, Lance’s learned to take a hit or two. However, it’s not only helped him grow to be a better dancer, but it’s also helped him grow into a better person, too. Believable enough. 

“Because you can dance professional and he can’t?” Keith asks straight up. 

_Ooh, Keith, don’t go there,_ Lance thinks with a small wince. That’s something to bring up another time. Talking about Adam’s past is such a sore subject, specially, since they need to bring Shiro into the equation as well. And Shiro deserves nothing other than love and all the affection in the universe. 

Lance releases a ghost of a smile. “Because I’m his only family.” He settles, feeling his heart turning into dead weight. 

“Only family? But your mom? _His sister_?” 

“Yeah, they haven’t talked to each other since the accident.” Lance looks away, grabbing his latte and quenching his painful memories. When he sets his glass down on the table, he releases a long exhale, continuing, “My mamá, she loves her little brother but they both have different meanings of future. Mamá wanted tío to take over my Abuela’s farm since Mamá had us: Marco, Ronnie, Rachel and me- and Papá’s job indicated too much moving around so someone had to take over the farm, but tío refused.”

“He wanted to dance.” Keith connects the dots. 

“Bingo. Didn’t end up well with the fam- he left when he was 18, had danced professional, and dated Shiro a couple years on the lay-low since Shiro was already a big deal skater by then. And then they moved to Japan and, well-” 

_The accident._

Lance can feel Keith’s hurt expression, knowing that he too landed on the same assumption. So no need to delve more into that at the moment. All Lance does is keep his smile elongated. Shy nonetheless, and not to be fraught about the whole accident situation, he wants Keith to understand that Adam really does love him, very much. 

“Yeah, so, that’s their part to tell. But all in all, after his dream shattered into pieces, he’s tried to piece it all together by using ya boi Lancey as the glue.” Lance makes a grim look, “I’m supposed to be his remedy of some sort. His perfect monster in disguise on the dancefloor. It’s always _win, win, win_ with him. Like the circles he sees in his head are going to project onto my dancing. I’m sorry I can’t be a perfect fucking circle!” The tangent breaks out unexpectedly. It’s scared the cats away, but it hasn’t frightened Keith. 

Tentatively, Keith's fingertips bump into Lance’s shaking fingers, like they’re secretly dancing. It calms him. Stabilizes him. Skin on skin, warm, safe. “Hey. You could always move out?” He suggests with light purr almost, hoping it’s somewhat uplifting. 

Luckily, it stamps a lilting smile on Lance’s face. Keith really does know how to keep him at bay. Lance releases a sharp breath through his nose, “Can’t do that, I live there for free. Besides, I’m the only other person in our family who loves to dance. It’d break his heart if I left him. He loves to talk about dancing with me because he can’t do it with Shiro...not anymore.” 

“I see..” 

“Hey! I love that fucker with all of my heart. I feel lucky as hells to have him as my coach, Keith. Please don’t get me wrong. He means well when he acts like that with me. It’s his way of laying off steam.” Lance tries to convince and Keith smiles with his eyes in response. 

_Frick_ , glitter is an understatement when describing Keith’s indigo eyes, they haven’t created a substance to compare to his irises. Going off-track Lance smacks his lips a couple times. Their fingertips have begun living their own lives, still caressing each other, and for some reason, Lance doesn’t feel the need to pull away.

“Keith, I love dancing so much today, and I have you to blame for that.” 

Holy moly does he have that boy to blame for. What with their spit on handshake contract. No way was he going to break that vow; in less than twenty years, he gets to marry this boy if they’re still single. That’s an offer he’s- _shit, no, Lance you don’t feel like that- stop._

Keith looks a little perplexed by that statement, though. 

“Me?!” He stutters all shakily. 

Lance nods frantically. “Of course.” He rewinds to that day Keith barged in on him at the bowling alley. “Sure, I may not still see the point in all this fucking winning business, although winning does feel really fucking good. But where I am today, I have you to thank for that. You showed me the passion dancing has for me. And how I can share it back, with my own dance.” 

With _their_ own dance. 

“Now.” Lance wipes away his sudden odd urge to marry his best friend, tapping his fingers on the table. Keith is all ears, waiting for him to go on. “The duo comp.” He says seriously, and now Keith is definitely more all ears than he was a second ago, raising his brows with acute interest.


	20. Chapter 20

With all of these kitties roaming and pouncing about in his proximity, Keith can’t do anything but miss his dog back home. If he had the opportunity, he’d FaceTime his doggo just to push this homesickness away. Not that he misses his má that much (she was ecstatic that Keith was staying in Japan for four more months. Even had to tell Lance hi), but his dog on the other hand. 

“Missing Kosmo?” Barges Lance through Keith’s longing of his best friend. 

Second best friend. Er, they share first place. 

Keith finds his phone, swiping to a picture of his dog. A husky breed with black and white swirling fur and sapphire blue eyes, like Lance’s. At least looking at Lance has his heart calming whenever he misses his dog.  _ God _ , he’s comparing Lance to a dog now. 

He shows Lance a recent photo he took of Kosmo before he left for Japan. It gains him the reaction he hoped for: Lance going bananas at how cute Kosmo is and grabbing his phone asking a bunch of questions about how he’s doing, how big he’s gotten, he was much much smaller when Keith got him right before Lance moved and, lastly, he’s able to ball in a question or two about Keith’s má. 

“We’re getting off topic! The duo comp, Lance. How does it work? Give me all the deets if we’re gonna do this.” Keith takes a long sip of his coffee feeling the caffeine working in his bloodstream, its strong bitter taste and aromas hitting him twice as hard as the beverage itself. 

Lance mimics him, finishing off his latte. When the mug hits the saucer his game-face morphs on his features. “Right. So,  _ Voltron: Legendary Defender. _ ” 

“That name..” Keith cuts in, griping about the chosen name, and Lance only smirks amusingly at that. 

“I know. But the director, some Coran dude. Super eccentric and loves all things dance. He’s new in the field of competitive dance and super rich so he thought why not blend his two favorite hobbies and make a dance comp out of it. It’s even going to be held in this castle type venue and all of the other well-known directors are in on it, too. Like Mr. Gal´Ra-” Lance gruffs suddenly, “but like, his son is representing Japan even though they’re part French, it’s all so fudged up-”

“Wait, Gal´Ra? He’s like the most known director in the dancing world. He wanted in on this?!” Keith says, trying to keep his surprised voice dialed down a notch or two. 

Another set of frantic nods. Lance’s lips twerk up to the left side, his eyes sparkling with massive intrigue. “Only because that son of a bitch,  _ Lotor _ , is competing- another reason to join this comp. I can’t stand that guy.” His fist hits the table with a hard yet gentle smack scaring the kitties that had cuddled up against Keith’s waist. 

Lotor Gal´Ra, what does one have to say about him? Keith doesn’t know that much about him since watching the dude dance only causes his nerves to turn into piranhas and consume all of his insides like nutrients. But he does know that Lotor is a really good dancer; has perfected any style of ballroom dance, although he hardly dances that much in this day and age rather working along side his father preparing to become the next director in the dancing industry. But something must have gotten him to join this duo comp, and why Lance hates him is also a question Keith wouldn’t mind fishing answers for. 

But he does remember seeing one video of him on Instagram before uninstalling the app. Villainous is the only word Keith can describe Lotor's dancing back then. It’s like he performs murders on the dancefloor, going feral with his arms and legs; Keith remembers when he watched the video how much his own heart raced with fright. Calling Lance the cruel prince is one thing, but with Lotor, from what Keith can remember, he is the wicked king. Not just that, knowing a few years have passed, Lotor can be equally villainous today maybe even more treacherous now that he’s grown into his own style and even has Lance grinding his teeth about him. 

“So.” Lance says, “We have that jerk,  _ Lotor _ , and his partner representing Japan. Apparently his partner is one of the best dancers in all of Japan...Then we have Allura and her partner representing England; this beefy guy named Hunk with his tiny American partner representing Samoa, and saving the best for last, _ us _ .” He thumbs his chest, “We’ll be representing the states.” And his white smile blinds Keith while he looks so proud. 

This isn’t making any sense at all for Keith. There are already dancers chosen to compete against in the comp? “Hold up a tick. Aren’t there auditions or tryouts to get into this comp, it sounds like a real big deal?”

“It is a big deal, a  _ huge-ass _ deal. It’s an  _ invite only _ competition- they look at your winning records and decide if you’re good enough to qualify or not-” Lance explains.

_ Invite only.  _ It all seems so...ambiguous.

And so sudden. 

Winning records, though? So, if Keith hadn’t won their recent single comp would they not want him in this duo comp, or-? Not just that, how can it be that the line-up is already decided when Keith hasn’t even said yes to enter yet? 

Keith tries to punch the numbers together. “And we qualify? Lance, I just agreed to do this and how is it that-” Then realization dawns on him like a brick to the face. 

He silently gasps, “No.” 

To which, Lance’s peachy lips only slither along his face as if his scheme worked out like child’s play. And now he’s rubbing his hands like a greedy little bug, “Yeah...I sort of already sent in applications for the both of us before our solo comp…and we got in!” He throws his hands in the air for celebration, but Keith isn't complying. 

Suspicious.

So that means before the single comp... _ huh _ . And that means his past winnings were enough to qualify.  _ Cool.  _ He hadn’t realized he was that good a dancer. But Lance is an extraordinary dancer, just having his name in the pairing should have been enough to say yes for them to qualify. 

A cat has nestled itself on Keith’s lap, he strokes its soft, soft fur and feels the vibrations of its purring through his palm. He smiles down at the cat, but then squints suspiciously at his friend. 

Keith asks, “But...don’t you need my signature for that kind of stuff?” 

And that has Lance squirming a little in his seat, looking ever so sheepish. He even plants a nervous hand on the nape of his neck, averting Keith’s prosecuting gaze. What is it now he’s done? 

“I may have a knack at forging signatures?” Lance shares, biting his inner cheek. 

“Then how the fuck did you get mine?!” Keith shouts hotly at that, and if he had shouted a little louder they might be kicked out of the café. Not that he’s mad or anything. Scratch that, he’s quite furious that Lance went behind his back, managed to steal his signature, forge it and enter them in the duo comp all in the hopes that Keith would say yes regardless.

Damn that asshole of a best friend. He knew Keith well enough for him to say yes. As if he could say no? He gets to dance along side his best friend; this is great, but also, very, very criminal of him. Had they noticed the forgery, Lance might have been kicked out of the community and banned from future comps. He risked that much hoping they’d compete together. Now, the big question is: if Lance can handle partnering up with Keith. Because Keith was a package deal; him and his anxiety came hand in hand. 

Lance speaks up about the forgery, glinting all mischievously and happy with his diabolic plan, “Remember back at the club...there were some fans there and they happened to ask for your autograph.”

Which was pretty astonishing seeing as Keith never put anything out about his dancing on the internet. How those people at the club new about him was certainly on him, but they recognized him and loved that he was willing to give them his autograph; the very one he practiced over and over again as a kid with ambitious dreams, something all kids did when they were young, not that it was ever going to be put to use, but Japan proved him otherwise. 

“Yeah there were quite a few...aww, c’mon Lance, don’t tell me you snuck in a piece of paper for me to sign on?” Answers Keith still baffled about that night, but piecing it all together now. Lance, that smooth fucker. 

A loud cackle bursts from Lance’s throat, his tan face looking all kinds of nuances of hellishly adorable. “Damn, you’re so smart, mullet. Guess there’s more than dancing going on in that noggin’ of yours after all. I had a time limit to send in the application, it was a make it or break it move, so I ain’t apologizing.” He says, ruffling his fingers through Keith’s hair. 

Keith feels his heart jumpstart like a car engine when Lance cards his fingertips in his hair, his cheeks blazing all hot. “Cut it out...dipshit.” He swats Lance’s hand away, but he’s agile like a cat, bringing his hand back into Keith’s unruly hair now. 

“Can’t, your hair’s like catnip...too hard to resist.” Lance guffaws all cute. 

But then something wakes Keith up. “What if I had said no..” He asks and Lance gives him a startled look, retracting his hand from Keith’s mane and starts tracing the circle of his cup. 

All of the cats have magically vanished, maybe found hibernation in their towers. Lance tips his head up from having a stare down tracing his cup and sends a blue strobe into Keith’s eyes, past his corneas and into his soul. 

“Question is-” Lance bites back, “would you have said no?”

_ Would I have said no? With Lance asking, I never would have said no!  _

_ Never. Never. Never. _

Keith groans into his own coffee mug, sad that it’s empty. “Good point... _ ugh _ , you really are a monster!” 

“Say what now.” 

***

Outside the sun has hidden behind a convergence of clouds, causing the air to chill when him and Lance walk around the area doing some window shopping. They pass  _ Lush _ and Lance backs up and walks into the store pointing to all of the bath-bombs that Keith needs to try out at home. One of them is a spherical shape of red and blue, he says there’s a splatter of purple glitter in the middle when you throw it into the tub and that it smells... _ divine.  _

Of course, Keith winds up buying it and complains to Lance that if he turns into a purple glitter monster, he’ll personally buy purple hair dye and force Lance to dye his hair in time for the duo comp. 

“I forgot to ask.” Keith says while they walk down a popular shopping street. Up ahead is an entrance to a shopping center, the escalators going up and it’s surrounded by mirrors- looks like the inside of a diamond. Lance drags Keith toward the diamond entrance before Keith continues his train of thought. 

While they escalate up and stare at their reflections, Lance starts taking pictures of them in the ceiling mirrors throwing up the occasional peace sign or duck face. “What did you want to ask, mullet- smile!” Lance slings an arm around Keith, and he notices how exceedingly long Lance’s lashes are before he pulls his lips into a smile. 

Talk about causing his stomach to flip more than he does during a routine. “How many-” 

They’ve reached the floor they wanted to visit- the lookout floor. There’s a cute, quaint outside café with benches placed out for them sit on and enjoy the lovely view from this floor. Him and Lance lean over the railing taking in the busy streets of Harajuku. 

“How many dance routines do we need to choreograph and present?” Keith asks at last going speechless at how beautiful the sunset is looking. 

Have they been out that long? It’s only 4PM, but daylight savings isn’t for another month so that explains the scheme of burnish orange and periwinkle dazzling the sky.

Watching the sunset with his friend- his crush - has Keith’s body palpitating. Most of all, it has his feet urging to dance. 

Lance’s voice calms his sudden erratic state. “3 dances.” 

The palpitating shrinks, causing his body to boil over instead. 

“3?!” Keith shrieks. “Do you understand that we only have  _ four months _ to come up with three whole routines, learn them and then perfect our asses when we present them? Are there any pre-decided styles we have to dance in, or are they all self-choice?” 

Keith bombards Lance with questions, because tomorrow they have to get started. Tomorrow they get to use Adam and Shiro’s dance studio and they will need to train day in and day out to perfect these routines if they want to win. It’s gonna be a hassle. It’s gonna drag out blood, sweat and tears. It's going to be everything but fun.

_ Three _ dances. Does Lance understand how hard it is to even choreograph one dance? Keith has gone back into an erratic stasis, he can’t seem to shake it away because this is going to be too much for him, too much pressure for his anxiety. 

“Relax, mullet.” Lance plants a soothing hand on Keith’s back. “You have me as your partner. With the dancing I have to offer, I promise- no, I know that’ll we get through this. We're gonna come up with three ass-static dance routines that will not only knock the director’s knickers off, but wipe that bitch Allura and that jerk-ass Lotor off the dancing map.” 

How does this boy know exactly what to say to calm the jitters having fun in Keith’s veins? Because his little speech is working. The way his smile is curled, how his hand is still pressing hard between Keith’s shoulder blades and that funny symphony of words that run out of his mouth, they have him on the threshold. Enough to hold him off the edge and keep him anchored to his offer. 

The Lance who knows exactly who he is and what he’s got to offer. 

That is a Lance Keith will never say no to, and knows can always keep his promise. 

Keith brings his arm around Lance’s shoulder, pulling him close so their temples are touching. His eyes lid contently and he sighs as he says, “I believe you.” And then he turns to face Lance. 

Is this where he kisses him now? 

“Let’s go dancing!” Lance jerks from their little bonding moment. 

_ Can’t catch a break. _

Well, can’t exactly say no to that offer, Keith quirks his lips a cinch and raises an interested brow, 

“Let’s.”


	21. Chapter 21

Akihabara has become a popular destination for the pair. 

Their red, handsome game center, aka.  _ the _ arcade, has become their usual hang-out to dance. The constant jingles from all the crane games surrounding them as they walk into the game center bleeds into Keith’s ears and when they walk up the next four flights of stairs, it’s all jingles on jingles on jingles on jingles and he almost wishes he held a mallet so he could smash every single one of the crane games and their annoying string of jingles disrupting his internal peace. 

One day. One day he’ll go all Harley Quinn on the crane games and they’ll be sorry. Every last one of them. 

In Lance’s hand dangles a bright yellow plastic bag. Before they came to the game center they had to make a quick detour. Quick, as in, they had to find the nearest  _ Super Potato: _ a retro gaming and second hand shop filled to the brim of every nook and cranny with Nintendo Games, PlayStation, X-Box, Atari, Sega, Anime- you name it, they got it. Not only that, they even had the one thing Lance was on the hunt for. 

They’d have to wait until they got home to have a look at Lance’s little find, but Keith was very sceptical to why and how his friend’s purchase could even remotely help their future dance routines win any scoring points. 

Nothing to linger on at the moment as two Dance Rush Stardom machines finally become vacant. Lance hastily makes a grab for them, leaping to his machine and planting the bag on Keith’s to make sure none of the other dancing monsters in their vicinity makes a steal for it.

Finally, after going almost a whole day without dancing, Keith’s feet pulsate satisfyingly when he steps on the dancing pad. It pops and flickers with colors of the rainbow under his soles and he can’t do anything but smile; feel his chest bloom with a flourish of desiring warmth and best of all, he gets to witness Lance react the same way as him when he turns to look at him. 

Caught like a deer in headlights, Lance sees him looking, going diffident when he tries to fish out two 100 yen coins from his back pocket. The Super Potato bag and their coats have found a designated spot in the basket in front of the dancing pads, and once Lance has slipped in the two coins, he’s already sliding through the song menu.

He keeps on sliding; Japanese songs, Anime songs, Nightcore songs, Western- “Lance, stop!” Keith rushes a hand out implying for him to stop on the category. “They have western songs! Fucking finally.” Relief has never tasted this good. Not that Keith has anything against Japanese music, it’s just nice to be able to dance on one of these machines and actually be able to sing his lungs out along with it. 

Lance makes an indifferent look, but Keith knows there’s a pout in there waiting to jut out to allow him have his way, “We are doing at least one western style song, Lance. Then you get to choose the songs, caphiché?” 

The pout stands down and now his lips twirl into a happy smile.  _ Dingus _ , Keith rolls his eyes playfully, always having his way. No use arguing with him, he just turns into a child if Keith tries to have his way. Hopefully, they’ll be able to work together when they start choreographing their dance routines for the comp. 

Scrolling through the list, there are too many songs to choose from. All of the songs are so good and Keith wants to dance to every single one. Evidently, Keith sees one song he loves, it’s even one of his all-time favorite artists: Shawn Mendes. 

“Hey, stop on that one.” Keith demands, pointing an insistent finger on Lance’s screen. 

A thin, brown brow shoots up indictingly. “You like the Mendes?” Lance asks coyly, bobbing his head to the demo-version of _ There’s nothing holding me back _ being played through the speakers. 

Would it be too much to say that he  _ loves _ the Mendes? Perhaps it be wise not release the fanboy again if he wants to live to see daylight. He smiles, voice sounding a bit abashed when he lightly fumes, “I have a friend at home who loves him, and she never let me listen to anyone else for almost a whole year!” 

“A friend, ey?” Now Lance eyes Keith suspiciously. 

Hold the phone, might he actually be... _ jealous? _

_ Nah, Keith, no use going there. _

Noor is a girl from Keith’s high school. Cute as a button, but swears worse than any sailor. She never shut her trap when it came to Shawn Mendes. Every day at school, she’d pull out the latest gossip about him, or show Keith pictures of the singer topless, and yes, she knew how disastrously gay Keith was, all the more for her to torment him with more topless photos of the Mendes. 

Let’s just say, the Mendes really made a step up for him to come out as gay at his high school. And to his surprise, everyone accepted his sexuality in a heartbeat;  _ that _ he has Noor to thank for. 

The memory of his friend sends him a smile along his lips and a flutter in his chest. He should send her a text later, thanking her, even though she’ll bombard his messenger with questions about the latest gossip from Tokyo. Not only that, she knew all about Lance and if Keith told her that he met his best friend from middle school here, who knew what other questions she’ll flood his phone with. 

Best let her live her life right now and call her later instead, Keith decides and is pulled back to reality when he sees that the dance machine is already on the verge of booting up their song. “Hey! A little heads up would’ve been nice.” Keith complains and his feet move on autopilot, hitting the expected marks on the screen. 

He hasn’t danced this one before so he tries to pinpoint his feet to where the screen wants him to dance. All too focused on winning, Keith can feel his blood pumping hotly under his skin, his smile still plastered widely along his face as he jumps, twirls and slides on the flickering dance pad. 

Lance is mirroring his every move, but he’s wearing a dragged out frown. “What is it?” Keith yells through Shawn’s raspy voice, “We’re dancing, why the fucking long face?” 

This is exactly what he wanted to do, so why is he acting like a big baby? Lance slides his pursed lips to the side of his face, still dancing nonetheless, quite perfectly on point too. His dancing is cordially on fleek as ever as his feet glide along like they’re drifting into an aerial basis. 

His expression screams complaint, though. But as the song continues, Keith’s score passes Lance’s.  _ Yes! _ But then, Keith gets it. Feet going from the brink of ruckus combustion to smoothing down slowly on the dance pad, missing a few marks; he permits his score to sink down to Lance’s so they’re equal. Now that they have the same score, Keith casts a quick glance at his friend, his features somewhat abiding into acceptance. 

Right. So this is why he was making such a childish grimace. The song is nearing its end and Keith tries to keep his score level with Lance’s, but his competitive instincts keep on sinking their claws onto his bones, causing his feet to increase in speed, tap-tap-tapping on the pad, and his hips start thrusting explosively side to side like he’s on a dancer’s high not thinking about Lance now, and, not to Lance’s fortune, Keith’s score surpasses the brunet at the last segment. 

Sweat beads race past Keith’s temples when the song finishes, flicking them away, catching Lance fuming at him. “Dude, this rivalry of ours ceased the moment we decided to be partners.” Lance thunders at him, fingers spread and curled like he wants to wring them around Keith’s neck. 

No one notices Lance bombing on him. Keith crosses his arms, tapping a brisk foot on the pad; thin, dotting streaks of pastel colors fly past the tip of his Converse from each tap. “What are you on about? We danced. We had a good time. Why are you fuming at me?” He thunders back, but Lance just throws his head back ripping out an aggravated huff. 

And ends up schooling Keith, “We need to work  _ together _ , mullet. Not  _ against _ each other!” 

That was exactly what he tried to do, until-  _ Fuck, fuck, fuck _ .  _ Keith, you’re an asshole _ . “I’m an asshole. Sorry, Lance.” Keith says low, his head hanging over his chest now. 

He feels a hand grip his shoulder being met with the sight of an ocean smoothing over creamy caramel skin. “Is alright. You’ve always been like this- competitive.” Lance shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, brushing off the C-word.

“That’s what I should tell you,  _ you’re _ the competitive one out of the two of us.” Keith fires back, his canines protruding to assist his fierceness. 

Lance pierces back in sapphire, gasping as his hand pulls from Keith’s shoulder to land on his heart. His eyes are lid shut, those long, long lashes looking thick along his tan skin, then he wakes as he shouts, “I am not!” 

“Fuck you! You know you are!” Keith shoots back, but smiles. 

They’re so stupid, Keith knows that. But he was the fool of the pair, Lance rather being docile, not really though. Keith should have known that his competitive instincts would creep up on him. Still, shouldn’t that be a good thing? He wants to help Lance win the duo comp. Win against Lotor, and, to his surprise, Allura; not that they even have a shot at that. Also, why the fuck is Lance so fixated on winning against her, not like they know each other. 

Keith sighs, searching his own pockets for any spare change. Different sorts of coins end up in Keith’s palm when he brings it out of his pocket, thumbing two more 100 yen coins and slipping them through the slots. 

“Let’s agree that we both are and try to work this out.” He tells Lance, sending him a look that asks Lance to be civil with him this time. 

Civil as in, not to act like a baby every time Keith does something Lance means is wrong. It’s not his fault that he likes to win. It’s in his nature as a professional dancer, and not only that, having had Lance as his rival for so long, Keith has forgotten how to dance together as a team, not as rivals. 

Lance gruffs again, “Fine.”

“Fine.” Keith grins. “Right, so instead of beating each other’s score, let’s try to aim at getting and keeping at the same score.” He explains, and Lance, yet again, flings into pout-mode. 

He ignores Keith and punches the buttons to find a song he wants to dance to, one he knows the both of them are already more than good at. His finger presses down on the big yellow button and, Lance just keeps on surprising Keith; it’s his second favorite song that blesses his ears:  _ Shut up and Dance _ by WALK THE MOON.

“Now.” Lance says strict, “Dance with me.” And winks a blue flame at him. 

Stricken to the core of his twirling heart, Keith can feel the spellbinding rhythm of the lively song grip him; grip his shoulders, his hips, his thighs, calves and the soles of his feet. Damn that blue devil, he had to go and choose this song, it gets Keith hyped up every time he listens to it and he knows he can’t stop once his feet start dancing away.

Locked to the beat, Keith is hitting all the marks, even doing the intricate twirls and running-man movements that even has their audience suddenly clapping impressively. Lance is fortunately back in a good mood, mouthing the words and dancing in perfect sync with Keith. They must have got it now, Keith thinks, until, naturally, his flouncing state has him worked up to win and prove who’s the champion at his favorite song. One of his favorites on his neverending list of favorite songs. 

_ ‘She took my arm _ _   
_ _ I don’t know how it happened _ _   
_ __ We took the floor and she said’

Affection strikes him again and again, pulverising his heart, his muscles, when he catches that Lance is so into the song, pointing two fingers at Keith then to his vividly bright blue eyes, singing out loud this time. His feet are riding like crazy on the pad, Keith can’t barely tell where they’ll swing next. Alas, Lance’s outstanding dancing overwhelms Keith, causing his anxiety to pick up and force him to throne this song as king. 

On the screens in front of them, is a picture the machine took unexpectedly of Keith looking smug as fuck once their scores reveal him winning over Lance and not keeping it at the same score as they initially had agreed on. His feet went and danced against him,  _ fuck _ .

“That’s it...you need to learn what cooperation means. If we can’t keep synchronized, then we’re fucked.” Lance says, hopping off the machine, dragging on his trench coat and grabbing his bag. 

No use blowing a fuse on his friend. He’s right. Keith can’t seem to be able to work along side his friend’s dancing, instead being too ingrained on dancing with his own terms. The terms he’s been using ever since he started dancing professionally. It’s what works. It’s what helps keep those needles scraped dull. 

Keith grabs his own coat, flinging it over his shoulders, lifting his head to find Lance already on his way out of the game center. “Lance! Wait up, where are we going?” He’s made it in step with his bratty friend. 

The jingles are back, ready to slice their musical knives in Keith’s ears, but he’s too intently focused on what Lance has to say when they finally make it out of the game center. Lance has his fists punched in his pockets with obvious aggression, keeping his legs in motion through the crowd of locals towards the station. 

He says loud enough for Keith to grab on, “I think once you know who we’re up against you’ll finally understand that you can’t keep dancing on your own accord.” 

“And how are you going to do that?” Keith counters, clenching his jaw not to snap at his friend. 

***

“What the hell is this?!” Shouts Keith, his voice surprising even himself, laced with confusion and critic. 

His eyes flit from the glowing screen of swishing colors plopped in front of them, then down to Lance’s bright-yellow, plastic bag-the  _ Super Potato _ one-that’s been idly thrown to the floor the minute Lance walked into his room pulling out his purchase to study it. In front of them while they sit at the foot of Lance’s bed, is his computer and the prized possession that he dragged out of the bag, which he was on the hunt for before they danced it all off and argued at the game center. 

Robotic lions are merging together on the screen, colors meshing everywhere and fusing into this robot looking man on the screen. There’s a reason why Keith doesn’t watch anime, and this is one of them. Robot lions merging to create a buff looking robot man, who can also, form swords, cannons, oh, and wings! 

The animation is visibly clearly from the 80s with its retro degrading color scheme and bad drawings. If Keith wanted to watch an anime or animation about robotic lions and guys steering them, he’d put in a little more production value into it and draw them at least a bit more... _ attractive.  _

Even their armor looks tedious. They should’ve gone with something modern, something that catches the eye; at least their armor is color-coordinated with their chosen lion. But still, who the hell was on fashion duty for these characters? They deserve so much better. Like a leather jacket or cool gloves would have sufficed. 

“Keith stop fixing the anime in your head…” Lance grumbles, jutting an elbow in his side as they sit on the bed with Lance’s laptop on his thighs. 

Not his fault this anime is so bad. “But...it’s so... _ old. _ ” Keith complains, grimacing when his ears catch some of the dialogue, and then directs a look of despair at his friend. “Seriously, how can the director love this stuff? The dialogue is corny as fuck, the drawings are so grimy and so dull in color-” 

“As all shows from the 80s look like, numbnuts.” Lance barks happily, “You think they should remake it? Make it better, with a better storyline, dialogue, character designs...well, a better everything?”

“Yes! Like haven’t they ever heard of diversity?” Keith shoots in. “The only character who looks to be a smidge of color is the blue paladin, who looks remarkably like you.” Keith couldn’t stifle his laugh, he noticed, when his observation made surface. 

Lance drags the corners of his lips like an anchor, checking the blue paladin out with a lilt nod of his head. “You’re not wrong. Hey, speaking of keen observations; the red paladin even has a mullet like you!” 

“It’s not a mullet!...Not anymore.” Keith sneers at Lance, giving him a dramatic hair flip with his shoulder-length mane. 

“I like the little one, though, he’s so cute and sounds like Gizmo from  _ Gremlins _ .” Lance coos at the screen as he flicks his finger at the green paladin, then his pupils blow up tenfold when the princess shows herself. “Also, the princess ain’t a sight for sore eyes- though, she should have been a person of color, I agree.” 

“And they should’ve added queer characters, not everyone has to swoon over the princess like you.” Keith starts to rewrite all of Voltron. If he had the power, Voltron would’ve been a much, much better series. 

Lance smacks his lips, looking nervous, “You really think that, huh. Why’s that?” He prods. 

_ Isn’t it obvious _ , Keith tries to laser at Lance with his mind. Every fucking TV show today adds in diversity, it’s how it should be and should’ve been back in the 80s, too. If people really loved this show, they’d hire real writers and actually animate it so that kids in this day and age can also relate and feel like they too can become paladins and save the universe and find real love.

Alas. Not everyone gets what they wish for. 

“I do..” Keith says with finality, turning off the show. His eyes can’t see another scene without wanting to punch a hole through it. “Okay, we’re back home. You gonna school me like you promised, or not.” His nails bite into his thighs all tense and nervous. 

On the whole train ride back home, Lance had kept quiet. Eerily in every degree, since Lance never knows when to shut up; but his mind must have been brewing a plan for Keith quit his own ways of dancing and fall into the same line as Lance so that they can be able to dance as a team and not as rivals. As Lance thinks he’s so fixated on. They’ve danced many times together when they were younger, out on the docks having the time of their lives never thinking about winning or who’s the better dancer. Living the free life. 

But some things in life aren’t free. 

“Okay, don’t barge out of the room or blame your anxiety on this. I’m going to  _ need _ you to comply whether you like it or not.” Lance bristles, scaring Keith a little by laying it on that thick; we’re talking layers. Keith ain’t an ogre, he doesn’t have layers. 

His ducts start to prick him when his anxiety is brought up. Not that Lance was trying to be mean, and god, Keith is a grown man he shouldn't let a comment like that get to him. But his anxiety, it will never give him a break, Lance has to understand that. It’s something he has to live with till the day he’s six feet under. 

Keith swallows around a heavy lump in his throat, nodding. He can’t bring himself to talk. In which, Lance reads him, giving him a soft look, pulling him into a hug. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to be that harsh on ya. I know how much of a bitch your anxiety can be, but I know you can work past it when the duo comp closes in- we need to be able to work together, you listening to me and I at you. Right? Compromise.” 

“Yeah, fine.” Keith whispers, hugging Lance a little tighter. 

Damn, it feels good to hold him like this. If only Keith could tell him how he feels then maybe he could hug him a little longer. But, yeah, the comp, it’s like it’s barricading Keith away from doing it. Like there’s a tall brick wall standing between his feelings for Lance and their duo comp. In any case, feelings is not the way to go at the moment. If Keith confessed here and now, everything in all favours would go to hell. 

Lance takes the cursor and clicks into Youtube, typing:  _ Allura dance competitions _ . “Wait. What are you doing?” Keith interjects, feeling his lungs collapsing in on him. Shrinking. Shrinking. Throat closing up. Heart hammering to get out underneath his chest. 

There are videos lining up along the web page with Allura and her dancing in the thumbnails. “You need to see who you’re up against, Keith.” Lance says, his eyes widening, hands flying to his arms into immediate comfort the moment they catch Keith’s suffocating state. 

“Keith. Breathe.” 

He tries to breathe. “But-but.” 

His hands are shaking, but Lance is there to keep them steady, lowering them from his arms covering them into his own. “No buts. I know how bad your anxiety gets when you study other dancers. But this is vital. Allura is the queen in dancing, she’s motherfucking Lady Gaga and Beyoncé combined when it comes to this. If we wanna beat her, you gotta see her dancing today.” 

It feels like flower stems are strangling his insides now, coiling around his ribs, thorns pricking his throat and petals drying up the inside of his mouth. He can’t, cannot for the love of him, begin to watch other dancers, start comparing himself, picture how much of an awful dancer he is when approaching these amazing dancers. 

Honestly, it’s nerve wracking enough having to compare oneself with Lance. And Lance’s dancing is certainly something of its own. Mesmerizing, perplexing, euphoric- Keith needs to pinch himself at times to believe that he’s going to dance along side him, having to match his own dancing with his. 

Will they make it as a team? 

Can Keith make it? 

His breathing becomes adamant, rejecting Keith to keep his eyes open, and his body to remain upright. He needs to leave, leave this room right now. Grab Lance’s laptop and maul it at the wall then make a run for it. But he keeps himself rooted on the bed, nervously biting at his lower lip. 

Again, Lance is able to calm him. Stabilize him. This time his hand has snuck up on him, his fingertips riding up his palm till they finally weave and slot together with Keith’s fingers. 

Even though he calms, his heart jumps and races on a new track. 

“Come on, Keith.” Lance presses, gripping Keith’s gaze to him. “You need to watch Allura and James dance, they’re like on a whole other level than  _ us _ \- we need to get on that level, too. Even more so than that. So, please. Watch the video.” Then he clicks on the video before Keith can agree on anything, but has it on paused. 

No matter how vital this matter is to Lance, Keith diverts from watching the video, keeping his eyes relocked to Lance’s accursed Shrek poster. Damn, he’s laughing at him again; with that stupid, absurd Scottish laugh of his. But then- Keith whips his eyes back to the screen when only one name starts to cramp up his headspace.

“Wait...did you say James?!” Keith splutters. 

“Yeah.” Lance says confused, brows furrowing. 

Keith has his hand out to keep himself-his brain-balanced. “As in James Arthur Griffin?” He captures Lance’s wild ocean for a brief moment, trying to make him know how important this is to him. 

_ Please let it be him. Please let it be him.  _

“Arthur?” Lance pulls his lips as he releases a sharp hysterical laugh. “That's whack. But yes, I think. Tall, skinny, sickly looking with spiky brown hair and this constant asshole expression like he's always plotting your murder? Stupid wannabe British accent?” He then proceeds to point to the video showing that it is indeed James Arthur Griffin. 

_ The very phony British one.  _

“Put on the video.” 


	22. Chapter 22

Lance’s sudden radiated body heat takes over all of Keith’s side of the bed. Again. He did this the night before, and it took Keith’s never ending yammering for his dingus friend to roll away back to his designated side of the bed. And yet, he is reluctant enough to keep his mouth shut this time, allowing Lance’s body heat to warm him up. He’s asleep so it won’t work up Keith’s body too much. He hopes. Dearly. 

Despite it already being more than 100 degrees already under the covers, Keith has become...curious. Why is it that Lance has yet again made his way over to Keith’s side of the bed? Sleep-rolling? That isn’t a thing, is it? 

Maybe he likes to be near Keith, that’s it? Be near his best friend, the friend he hasn’t been able to gush about dancing and his weird obsession with 80s sci-fi flicks. Not be able to talk about what bothers him. Not have the chance to chat about his uncle. Or his family feud that might still be ongoing. Maybe, after all this time, the reason Lance is laying so close to Keith, is because he just missed him and doesn’t want to lose him again. 

Keith keeps his eyes shut. If he can’t see Lance, his heart won’t beat out of his chest for him. His body won’t thrum for the chance to wrap his arms around him, pull him closer, press his lips to him. Whisper sweet, sweet words in his ear. That he won’t leave him. Ever. He’ll stay, as long as he wants him to. 

Without even thinking about what could happen next, Keith feels warmth brushing past his lips, and then Lance actually pressing his lips to Keith’s. 

His body vibrates at the sudden touch. _Wait._ Hold the fuck up. What’s happening? Are they kissing? Is this their first kiss, and it's happening when Keith isn’t even full aware of its arrival. Something so unfair yet so wind knocked out of his lungs exciting. 

What does this mean? Is he seriously kissing Keith? His lips are wet against Keith’s, warm, slicked and pursed with want. Could Keith be dreaming? Is Lance dreaming?! Maybe he’s kissing Keith but thinking he’s kissing some kind of girl- _bitch._

Should he press his lips back? 

“Keith…” He hears Lance whip out with a long desperate whine to kiss him back. 

Keith’s eyes slowly lid open, feeling a caressing graze of supple fingertips anchoring his upper arm, pulling him closer. He presses his lips back against Lance’s, a dash harder than his friend is doing. And the instant their lips glide over each other, he swears to Shrek himself that the song _Singularity_ by BTS is blasting its sexy bass-tune through the walls; their passionate heat representing any slow song in the universe while making out in Lance’s darling, soft bed. 

He kisses his friend harder, gasps for air when Lance thrusts against Keith’s abdomen. _God._ How is this finally happening? If this is all a dream, he’ll throw that Shrek poster into the shredder. 

Doing what he’s always wanted to do, he wraps his arms around Lance’s waist, bringing him even closer, closing up all the space in existence, devoted to give him a good time. Lance releases a low laugh, it causes Keith’s head to spin, his whole body to pulse in future adventure. 

Amazing. His lips taste so good. He wants to devour that eccentric tongue whole. 

He tastes like mornings. How mornings can taste like if Keith knew how to speak from his heart and not from his constant pull of bluffing words twined by his anxiety. 

The power of Lance’s kiss leaves Keith so winded, sucking in new sharp breaths of air each time their lips part just a fraction, way too stubborn to fully part ways. Both their mouths grow hungry, going from light, tentative brushes to a predatory fervor, keeping their lips slotted as their tongues dance with zealous dedication. 

It’s so good, he could keep this going all night. 

All. Night. 

“Keith.”

“Keith.”

“Keith!” Keith snaps his eyes open. 

It’s morning. His eyes stay lidded, lashes tickling him, trying to keep the annoying bright sun out of his sight, confused as to what is going on. “The hell?” He murmurs groggily, feeling sleep-grains resting in the corner of his sleepless eyes. He turns to stare outside the bed, where Lance is looming over his side of the bed looking fairly interested in Keith. 

“Weren’t we just-” Keith points to his mouth then urgently back to Lance. 

“Well, well, well, mullet.” Lance intervenes, shutting Keith up as his eyes dance with mischief and begins to slide closer on the bed to where Keith is sitting upright in the with his brows furrowed all dazed and confused with this weird current situation. 

Lance plants a heavy palm on the bed, lips spreading as it sinks into the soft mattress. It guides eagerly along the sheets up to Keith’s hip and starts crawling with frisky fingers past his chest, and curls around his neck, gripping him in its clutch. Knees start to sink into the mattress now as Lance comes even closer to him, bending down so they’re eye to eye. “Kiss me, Keith.” He whispers, both hands rested firmly on his cheeks while licking his lips then biting the nether region as his eyes keep wandering in the depths of Keith’s. 

Wait. What? 

Gingerly, Lance presses his lips to Keith’s. The searing intensity smacking his brain into yesteryear, and what was happening before his eyes snapped open. But, they were just kissing a moment ago. What in the blue blazing hell is happening? Keith can’t wrap his mind around this sudden happening but adheres agreeably to Lance’s insistence, gently moaning into the kiss as their lips press together tenderly.

Mouths still pressed together, Lance's knees swing to each side of Keith’s hips, feeling Lance’s heavy bottom bounce on his lower half- _fuuuck._ Thoroughly, Lance takes his time exploring all of Keith’s face with his lips. Dragging them from his plumped up lips to his cheek, tracing his scar as he peppers him with his soft lips, sending them down to press a hot one on his neck, pulse racing as he goes even further _-further, gods be damned_ -down till his lips cradle a revealed hip-point.

Crisis. This is a crisis. Keith can’t hold it back anymore. As Lance is all unabashed, he tips his iridescent blue eyes up to Keith, pupils blown up tremendously. His throat, Keith hears, pulls out a few, small obscene noises, and it destroys Keith, have him unfurling under Lance’s straddle. 

He also notices that Lance is...looking below Keith’s waist, where his boxers are presumably and heatedly...tight, and then he sees Lance wiggle his brows a couple times with implication as his bottom rocks over the tightness in his boxers. _Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea._

" _Well,_ looks like someone’s happy to see me.” Lance says all silky smooth, riding down Keith’s body to place his gorgeous face in front the tight spring that wishes to be released. 

Then Lance’s eyes capture Keith, his pupils remaining blown up with desire and he says as his voice drips over, “Here, let me take care of that for you." Continuing to take his finger and sliding it over the band of his boxers. 

Keith swallows past his heart pumping in his throat, voice lament. “Oka-” 

Something smacks Keith awake. A pillow. A motherfucking pillow disrupts the one thing Keith's been waiting for for like the past two days. His eyes throw daggers at the sparkling pillow that caught his cheek, prying his eyes open from murderous sleep and detecting that it was Lance who threw the pillow when he flings it out of his face, huffing as he finds his friend rummaging chaotically through his closet scavenging for an outfit to wear today. 

_Dammit._ Keith knew it was too good to be true. A dream within a fucking dream. How could his brain deceive him like that, going all _Inception_ on his ass? He pinches himself first to make sure he really is awake now, in case Lance decides to spring him with those voluptuous, tempting lips again. It stings as his fingers cause him a quick pain but he pinches his cheek once more for good measure. “Fuck.” He hisses. Good. So he really is awake. 

_Dammit!_

"Morning, mullet. You're a really heavy sleeper, bathroom's free." Lance singsongs, as he flings a hamper of clothes on the bed, groaning sadly to himself, the infamous pout almost making an appearance.

Keith, still lost, wonders what kind of reality his wits have taken him now, casting his gaze towards his friend’s groan. His lungs seem to hate him as he can’t breathe when he captures what Lance is wearing. 

His eyes trail from his friend’s ankles, sliding up slowly as he imagines Ed Sheeran singing about caramel thighs. Cause, well, Lance is most certainly a caramel colored fiend, revealing legs for days on end. Eyes continuing their adventurous journey, he finally lands them on a pair of-

  
  


_Fucking-a._

Booty shorts. The fucking blue devil saw it fit to pull on a tight, _short_ pair of booty shorts. Bootay. Shorts. _Why, God, why..._

“The hell are you wearing, dumbass!” Keith screeches, grabbing the sparkling pillow to cover his eyes. 

For Pete’s sake, he looks so good in them that Keith will be caught dead in this comfy bed if Lance finds him aroused by how perfect his ass looks in those shorts. “Lance!” He yells again, because he can’t contain his embarrassment.

“What?!” He hears Lance screech back all puzzled by Keith’s dramatic turn. The pillow is dragged out of his face but he keeps a tight hold of it. 

“Keith.” Lance grunts, trying to get the pillow out of Keith’s hold. “What’s wrong?” He keeps on pulling it, one foot planted on the bed frame to gain more strength. 

Keith lets go of the pillow and Lance falls on his ass. On his assless shorts, a loud ' _oof'_ causing Keith to smile, then cackle. “What the fuck are you wearing?” Keith finally asks with a harshness covering his voice. 

Still on the floor, Lance tries to push himself up, doing a full 180 on his heel to face Keith and show off his short-shorts. “What? These? Don’t you find them cute?” He pouts, fishing for a compliment. Hells, he’d write a whole series of novels filled with compliments for him but he knows that will only boost the boy’s already big enough ego. 

“It’s like 30 degrees in here!” Keith announces, seething at the view he’s been given while wrapping his blanket tight around himself to prove that he’s chilled. _Not._ He’s hot. So. Hot. 

“Not when I’m around.” Lance remarks all serious with a bubbly snigger, bumping those ample hips, his butt-lips destroying Keith if he keeps on staring at the over-the-top show happening before him. 

“ _Somebody come get ‘er, she’s dancing like a stripper._.” Lance starts singing, bumping his hips audaciously as he still flings t-shirts, sweats and jeans all over the place being the dramatic queen Keith knows him to be. 

Keith tries to force down an aggravated sigh, keeping the blanket snug around him as he leans over the bed and grab a fist filled with Lance’s tossed clothes and throw them at his friend. 

“Put on some clothes!” Keith gathers more of the clothes that Lance has strewn on the floor and keeps aiming them at him hoping he doesn’t see how flustered he is.

As expected, Lance roots his dramatic hands to his hips, staring Keith down. “I can’t. None of those yucky clothes are wearable.” Lance complains, sticking his tongue out to the pile of unwearable clothes. 

“Fucking find something else to wear...you can’t wear those ridiculous shorts to the studio!” Keith exclaims, rolling over so his face digs into his pillow releasing that bottled aggravation. 

He feels Lance dragging him up from the pillow, their faces meeting nose to nose. Why now? His cheeks are deceivingly red, he bets, when he catches those endless hues of marbled blue sink into him. What’s a dude gotta do when he got it so bad? Confess? _No!_ It was all a freaking dream. A way too, realistic, heart-turning, stomach flipping, dance worthy, dream. Dreams. Keith was hit with the double dream bullet. _Fuck dreams._

“I can’t wear anything else but these shorts, mullet. All my other clothes, my _wearable_ clothes, are mingling it up in the dryer.” He explains with finesse. “Adam said they’d be done in time for us to catch the 8am train.” Then he saunters slowly away, pulling his upturned nose from almost brushing Keith's tepid state.

Keith fights the urge to send his eyes downwards, repressing to trace out and burn the image of Lance’s ass in those shorts. He swallows, the dream, both dreams mind you, resurface his vision and all he can see is Lance’s face close to his, remember the exact shape of his lips, how his blue eyes sparkled brighter than any star recorded in the entire galaxy and the touch of him. Oh, the touch. Picturing how he ran his hands over Lance’s hips, pressing his thumbs hard into his soft, warm skin. 

Now he’s gulping. “F-fine. Wear your stupid shorts. Just cut out the annoying Tik Tok song..” 

“ _Somebody come get her.”_ Lance mocks in his singing voice, going into full screamo just to get on Keith’s nerves. 

  
  


Seems like it got on someone else’s nerves too. 

His door smacks open with a _bang_!, Lance going all freeze-frame: arms frozen solid, one leg dangling in the air, his butt strutt out. Adam has a tight fist on the door handle, eyeing Lance coated in amber flames, “Lance! The hell…” He starts mumbling something in Spanish and Lance scoffs back offendedly at him. “Claríta didn’t raise you to become a farmer’s hoe.” Adam sighs, his fingers planted distressfully on his forehead, then pushing his glasses back in place. 

Lance gives Keith a fast smile, then sends his gaze up to his tío. “Hoe do you know that?” 

The room grows confidently quiet. The only sounds in the room being Adam and Keith sighing in unison, heads shaking drenched in shame. 

It’s obvious that Lance is waiting for Keith to praise his little pun, but no. _Na-ah._ Not gonna happen. 

“Breakfast’s ready, and your clothes are dry.” Adam eyes the booty shorts again, judging his nephew, then glides a flash of his eyes to Keith; there’s a hint of a smile resting along the annoyed lines of his lips. 

Before he closes Lance’s door, Lance begins to open his mouth, “Dare sing that song around the table-” Adam warns, aiming a feisty finger at Lance and the door shuts with another bang. 

  
  


***

“Tío, what did you say about daring to sing that song around the table?” Lance mutters to his uncle, looking smug as he sips his tea. 

To the table’s companion’s astonishment, the very strict adult who made a threat about a certain stripper song, turns out to be the one humming it while he leers at his nephew’s judging perception and catches his husband giggling at him. “I’m humming it, there’s a difference.” Adam counters, pouring Keith more coffee, topping him off. 

“That’s great, thanks.” Keith cheers with his mug-Lance’s anime themed mug-thanking Adam. 

Adam sends Keith a soft smile, but it leaves him the moment he looks at Lance. “Lance, don’t take all the egg rolls. Leave some for Keith.” 

“Keith hates eggs. Don’t cha?” Lance furrows his brows, wondering maybe if Keith’s changed over the years. 

But he distinctly remembers telling him in the cab the other night that he hasn’t. 

How much can a person change in 8 years? 

Keith makes a shy smile. “I do. Can’t stand them...You can have my share, Lance.” 

“Sweet.” Lance starts stuffing his face with the remaining egg rolls. “Will you be at the studio later?” He asks his tío through a mouth full of eggs. 

Adam flutters his eyes, like he’s told Lance a million times before. “Yes. Later. Shiro and I have some errands before I make the trip over. You’re first task-”

“Task?!” Lance interrupts dramatically. “You’re giving us homework?” He spits some egg on his tío’s cheek. 

You can clearly see the lid on the pot shaking behind Adam’s boiling temper. “ _Yes_. If you guys wanna get your butts ready for the comp, and utilize my coaching expertises- then I’m gonna give you homework. So you better do it, or else you can make your own dinner. Sleep on the side of the road...” 

“Baby...aren’t you being a little harsh?” Shiro cuts in, giving both Lance and Keith a sympathetic glare. 

Adam releases a sharp nasaled breath. “I’m not. Lance didn’t win his solo comp- no offence, Keith- because he dawdles around too much and doesn’t take this serious at all.” 

“Stop talking like I’m not even sitting next to you.” Lance bristles, slamming his, luckily, empty mug on the table.

He rises. “Come on, Keith. It’s 7:50 am, we gotta catch the train.” 

Adam and Shiro share a look with Keith. A silent conversation. They’re saying that Lance is usually like this when they try to confront him. Shiro tugs a corner of his lip up when him and Keith catch eyes. Keith responds with a smile of his own, feeling relief wash over him somehow. 

He rises, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure we do the homework.” Then stops mid-rise, “Uh- what is it, the homework?” 

“Songs.” Adam says. “You two need to decide on the three songs you want to dance to.” 

Keith nods affirmatively to that, happily, because what can be so difficult picking out the songs they want to dance to. He already had a couple in mind. 

He makes his way to Lance’s bedroom to gather his things. “Oh, and Keith?” Adam calls for him. There’s a mysterious twinkle seducing his tan expression. 

“Yeah?” 

Adam tilts his head and puts on a heinous looking smile. 

“Good luck.” 

  
  


***

_Good luck._

The hell was that supposed to mean? Keith already knows how stubborn Lance can be. Specially when it comes to dance. If song choice is going to be difficult, he already anticipated it. He’ll be proactive. Begin discussing song choices on the train, see if he can implement some of the songs he wants to dance to and see if he can win Lance over with his little mind game. 

Unfortunately, to Keith’s utter dismay and surprise, the train is jam-packed. Packed to the core with salary men and business women. It’s a super tight squeeze as Lance and Keith squirm their way through the inside of the subway car. They find an opening and both spot it as they make a beeline through it. 

That is, until they stop at the next station and more passengers continue to fill up the already very little empty space. Someone sends Keith up against the subway car window, and feels, his body going into static-shock when Lance is pushed up against him. 

Eye to eye, chest to chest, hips to... _hips_. Keith can’t breathe. His throat is clogged, constricted with a feverish heat as he feels Lance writhing around to make any room, but it isn’t helping. Not one fucking bit. In any case, it’s making matters worse. So much worse. If this continues, he won’t be able to keep away a new tightness under his sweats. 

_Why did I wear sweats on the way to the studio? Stupid, Keith, stupid._

Another stop. Keith winces, sucks in a desperate breath when Lance is pressed firmly up against him when the train comes to an abrupt stop. 

Something tightens. Keith can’t hold it back anymore. He needs to think about things that turn him off again so that Lance can’t start to.. _.feel it._

Lance has his hands placed on the walls on either side of Keith’s face, trying to shield away the crowd taking up their space. He looks so...rugged, almost. Did he forget to shave this morning? Keith can see a fresh blanket of stubble kissing Lance’s golden face. It takes one second. A split-second of his life to lean in, mumble a confession or kiss him, and _bam!_ , done. But nope. 

The train picks up speed again, and you guessed it. It’s even more crowded than before inside. 

_Come on, Japan. No need to play matchmaker now, I can’t die of heart attack at 22…_

Keith makes an obvious loud groan. 

“Sorry, dude.” Lance intrudes his panicking thoughts. “It’s only for like, three more stops. Can you breathe?” Lance’s breath fans across Keith’s upper lip raising the hairs on his neck. 

_No, Lance. No. I. Can. NOT._

“Y _eah_. Yeah, I can breathe fine.” Keith says, nonchalantly, trying to battle every tooth and nail with the blush that’s creeping up his neck. 

By the by, hiding his blush proves absolutely impossible. Someone might as well dig a hole right here so he can jump in and fall forever. 

“You look hot, are you sure you can breathe?” Lance winces when someone pushes into him, his dense body, again, pressing into Keith. 

_I am going to die on this train. Cause of death? Gay panic._

Keith returns with a new guttural groan as Lance’s pelvis area digs into him.

_Someone make this train go faster._

“ _Ikebukuro. Ikebukuro._ We are now stopping at Ikebukuro. The doors on the left side will open.” The automatic female voice repeats on the speakers. 

As the doors slide open, the whole train-car empties, like someone dropping a bag of marbles on the floor. Out they all pour, the salary men, business women, school kids and Keith and Lance. 

_Thank you God and Oprah, I survived._

  
  


Lance is hunched over his knees, catching his breath, and smiles with his eyes closed when he aims his face at Keith. “Congrats, buddy. You survived your first Japanese morning rush.” 

“Let’s never do that again.” Keith slides his lids at Lance, mouth draped into a thin, not quite amused with this side of Japan but relieved, line. 

Per usual in a Japanese station, people are quickly streaming about like the flow of rushing river. Lance slaps Keith on the back. “Aight. To the studio we go. Excited?” His smile is like ten suns beaming into a reactor, Keith almost needs to shield it with the back of his hand. 

He angles his head, pulling his lips. “Very.” 

  
  



	23. Chapter 23

What does it mean? 

What does it mean? 

What does it mean?!

Is Keith attracted to him? Or does he find being publicly squished up to the wall by his best friend very arousing? 

Lance darts his eyes to Keith every two seconds while they walk through the main street of Ikebukuro towards his Tío’s and Shiro’s dance studio. 

Keith isn’t paying attention to him, being too preoccupied checking out the noisy streets of Ikebukuro. Walking past jingling game centers, screaming sellers about discounts they will not want to miss out on and promoters fishing people to come try out their exquisite, one-of-a-kind Japanese cuisine. It’s hard to keep his smile way from the boy, specially when they walk past a bakery with delicious, glittering baked goods wafting up the entire area and Keith looks like he’s in heaven with his eyes closed and breathing in evenly trying to carefully take in the sweet smells.

They catch eyes briefly when Keith lids his open, lifting his brows up in question. Lance swings his head away quickly, waving his hand as if it were nothing and they keep on walking. 

Might have been his imagination, he smacks his brain stubbornly. No way was Keith hard when he was pressed up against him in the subway car. Phone. It was his  _ phone _ , of course it was his phone, what else was it supposed to be. Keith isn’t attracted to Lance. No way he is. They’re best friends. That would go against all points of their best friendship. 

Damn. These thoughts keep on piling in on him. Have been pummeling like catapults ever since their 8 year reunion. Sure, Keith is hot. He’s already established that. To himself and maybe the rest of the world with how often he keeps on making goo-goo eyes at his friend. 

Either Keith is ridiculously oblivious to Lance’s constant gawking. 

Or, he’s hiding something, too. 

Wait. 

If Keith  _ is _ -maybe-attracted to Lance.

Does that mean Lance is attracted to him, too? 

Weight topples onto Lance’s shoulders as he lingers on that sudden thought. 

Attraction?  _ Yes.  _

Attraction to boys?  _ No. _

Attraction to Keith?  _ YES _ .

But could it be more than that? 

He shakes the question off now that they’ve made it to the studio. 

Adam bought the studio with Shiro a year after the accident, making it close to 9 years old as their baby. Three stories tall, with three large rooms to dance in on the second and third floor. The outside makes it look like a traditional Ryokan, the walls made of wood, imitating bamboo almost. But the inside is all renovated. Years of making it look exclusive and high-end. To Adam’s satisfaction and meeting his standards. Lance’s standards too, since they’re family and sometimes too similar to comfort. 

“Wow.” Keith gawks at the studio, raising his head up and down, his teeth showing all the way as he studies the exterior of the studio. 

Something bursts in Lance’s chest. His heart jumping wildly at the amazing image beside him. Had he been Keith’s boyfriend, he could take a picture of him and compliment how cute he is, and how much he- 

His phone is out anyways, directing it at Keith. A snap sound catches Keith’s attention. Lance silently skits, “You looked so ridiculous, mullet. It’s just a studio.” He saves, smiling contently at the photo of Keith with his mouth agaped being mesmerized by the studio. 

Another series of twirls dance in his chest. Keith looks good dressed so casual. In a loose black t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Lance’s gray sweatpants. Damn, he’s gonna be able to smell Keith later if he doesn’t wash them. 

Lance did as pleaded and dropped the booty shorts, well, given that it is less than 50 degrees outside he pretty much had to. He’d freeze somewhat if he kept them on. And, the locals would totally throw their briefcases at him if they saw him sporting them. 

So, a tight blue tee and his own pair of black sweats, fitting a little more snug than Keith’s. To his advantage, he won’t be as revealing as Keith was on the train. Crossing his fingers, though. 

Inside, it’s all elegant and simple. White walls, houseplants making the room seem larger and have a natural feel to it. Very homey some would say. It is though. There are photos hung up on the walls, creating a collage of Adam and Shiro when they were younger. When they were free and danced their hearts out. Some are of Adam and Shiro older, trying out the rooms while they dance. Shiro looks so happy. It’s been a while since Lance has seen him smile so easily. The light in his eyes reflecting a passion he’ll never have again. 

“Look, it’s you!” Keith points to a picture of Lance when he was 16. 

“Mullet...don’t look at that. It’s before I peaked in appearance. I look like such an emo kid…” Lance grumbles, averting to stare at his past self from 5 years ago. 

Can people change during a few years? In appearance? Hells yes. In personality? Not so much. Lance still feels like the same old Lance he was back when he lived in the same town as Keith. But still, something feels ominous to him. Something’s taking ahold of his heart, trying to tell him something. Something brand new. 

Is he willing to take the new information? 

“I like it. You look so...dorky.” Keith guffaws, and Lance smacks a hand in his friend’s face. 

“Enough! Come on, we need to find our room.” He starts stomping to the stair-room. 

Behind him, Keith is sniggering probably thinking about his photo. Not his fault he had an emo-phase. The mullet still fashioned it. Although, for him, he fit it. A little too much too well. He could easily wear all the pairs of skinny, ripped jeans in the world. And a little eyeliner wouldn’t hurt either. 

His brain starts surging at the thought, hastily casting emo-Keith away from his continuous never ending train of panicking over his attraction for his best friend. 

“Here we are.” Lance says, hiding away the warmth displayed on his cheeks. “Voíla!” 

Keith makes an impressed whistle, walking into the room, sizing it up with appreciated nods. “It’s pretty...spacious.” He does a 360 twirl in the room, testing it out. 

“Isn’t it?” Lance remarks. “So we can practice our leaping together, and our running jumps- sliding across the floor. Flinging each other across the room. It’s gonna be great!” 

Dancing with Keith  _ has _ to go well. If they’re going to win against the queen of dancing, with her antagonistic dancing skills and how she can move an entire venue of audience with one single empowering hip bump, they gotta step it up. The women has a transic gift in her feet. She's dangerous. Blinding. She can make anyone do her biddings on the dancefloor. 

Except for Lance. He withstood. 

It was a hard fight, but he got Keith to watch the videos of her in the end. Turns out he knew James. From the dance academy. They were partners, he said. That was enough to turn on a certain light that had been absent in him, Lance assumes. There was a certain competitiveness inside him that slipped out when he was told that James was Allura’s partner for the dance comp. 

_ Interesting.  _

“So, how often is Adam and Shiro here?” Keith heaves him out of his stupor. 

Lance starts stretching his calves. He sees Keith is mirroring him. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean...well, since you know-” He kept still, his shadowed face implying the accident. “How often do they actually come here?” 

“Adam’s here pretty much every day. He coaches his clients in ballet. But Shiro.” The shadows hover from Keith to Lance. “He hasn’t been here in years.” 

Something washes over Keith’s expression. Pain? Pity? Sorrow? He can’t quite recall what it is Keith is thinking, but it’s not of the light-hearted side, more of the faint-hearted. It’s okay. He’s allowed to feel sorry for Shiro. It’s not like he’ll yell at you for taking pity on him. Ever since the accident, it’s been... _ hard _ . For all of them. Maybe mostly to Adam. But he never shows it. Hates weakness. 

Keith doesn’t push for more answers, getting the memo and continues with his stretches instead. He’s sitting on the floor, staring at his reflection in the full-length wall-mirror, legs spread far to each side. One arm drapes to the right side, he reaches for his toes and bends over his knee. Damn he’s limber, and it surprises Lance, because Lance has always been known as the mellow one out of the two. But if he wanted to, Keith could easily slide into the splits, no questions asked. 

“You gonna stretch?” Keith asks. 

Right. Lance was too occupied staring at his friend, the friend he’s attracted to. Inwardly, he groans, still extremely confused with what’s happening to him. Ignoring the war in his chest, he plops down next to Keith, doing the same stretches. 

As they continue their stretches, he notices that Keith is sliding his eyes back and forth between the empty space in the room, them casting them back to Lance, like he wants to say something but not really. 

Lance gruffs, “What is it?” 

Keith averts his gaze, “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing…” 

Keeping secrets from Lance? Hell to the no. He stands up, starts bending over to touch his toes, staring at Keith between his legs. 

“What is it?!” He shouts. 

“Nothing...just leave it. I wasn’t gonna say anything.” Keith slides his legs together, curling over both his knees and touching both sets of toes, he releases a small groan like it’s a little painful. When he releases, he kicks both feet to the side and rises to stand opposite Lance. 

Seconds tick by. But it feels like hours. His knees feel wobbly, specially when Keith’s eyes light up perfectly under the white lights. Blinding. 

Keith starts rubbing his arm, going shy. Is he shy? Why is he being so bashful? 

“Dance!” “Song!” 

Both of them speak over each other, snickering. 

“Sorry, you go first.” Lance says with nod at his head. 

Still being so uncharacteristically shy, Keith says while looking down at the shiny, hardwood floor, “Song-choice...uhm- we need 3, right?” 

Songs. Lance already had, like, fifty thousand songs he wanted to choose from. But, if Keith had a couple in mind, he’ll be all ears. 

“Yeah. Like I said at the balcony the other day, we need to do three dances.” 

His lips twitch when Keith grimaces. “I know. I know, it’s alot. But hear me out.”

“I’m listening.” Keith isn’t mad or anything, he seems more interested in what Lance has to say; arms crossed, hip elevated a tad. He looks so cool. 

Lance clears his throat, then starts walking to one of the corners where he sticks a cord into his phone. “So-” He starts. “Three dances. But fret not, it’ll be held over three days!” Now he’s thrown his arms out in celebration. 

“You could have told me that sooner, you gangly tree!” Keith stomps, but has no specific direction in mind so he just wanders around doing twirls when he goes on, “Sorry. So, the comp is held over three days, that’s a relief.” 

“Right? Sorry, I didn’t tell you sooner though, I did like to see you squirm.” Lance smirks easily. 

Still in twirl-mode, Keith spins like dice being thrown. “I have a few in mind.” 

“Oh yeah?” Lance says in a provoking tone that implies for Keith to go on. 

Keith shares his tone, “Yeah.” Then he runs across the room and does a perfect, graceful scissoring toe-leap that has Lance staring in awe. Super straight, toes pointing like someone’s nocked an arrow to his chest. He lands perfectly, something that sparks a memory in Lance from their solo comp, when he wasn’t able to land his own jump. 

“Lance...what’s wrong?” 

Shit. He must have read Lance’s grave and gloomy expression. “Nothing. I’m fine. How about a song?” He muses, pressing to change the subject quickly before he’s reminded time and time again how much of a failure he is. Adam can’t be disappointed again. He’s disappointed him enough already. 

A smile blooms across Keith’s face, gracing Lance with it.  _ Definitely attraction. _ The first cords to a very well-known song thrums through the speakers like they’re possessed, then he hears The Weekend singing with his soft r&b voice.  _ Blinding Lights  _ blesses his ears and Lance begins to sway along with the long, gliding beats to the music mouthing along with the lyrics. 

_ Lura loves this song _ , he thinks, then stops mid swing as his foot kicks to the side. Wait. What if she chooses the same songs as him. She can’t be that devious, can she? It’s not like she has any secret microphones stashed in the studio? Lance tips his head to each corner of the room, leering at them like there’s a camera with a microphone stuck to the wall and it’s so microscopically small that he’d never have noticed. That sly chick. He shakes his head, brushing away the idea of Allura cheating. She’d never go that far, she’s too superficial with her dancing to think she even needs to spy on the other duo-pairs. 

“Lance, why are you looking so hard at the corners? Is there a spider?!” Keith hitches, stampeding to the middle of the room now eyeing each corner like there’s fire blasting out from them. 

So, Keith hates spiders. Just like with eggs, he despises them. Scared senseless when he sees one. Cries like a baby if they crawl on him. And his punches hurt like a bitch if you chase after him with one in your hand. 

Lance senses his dimple his showing when he drags a corner of his lips up, the glint in his eyes everything within the realm of playfulness. “Don’t worry. No spiders here. It’s too cold for them anyways. Just you wait until the summertime rolls around. The spiders here are disgusting.” (They really are)

Maybe not a good idea scaring your best friend shitless if they’re going to work on becoming a team. “Keith!” Lance skips over to his friend, waving a hand in his face. “Yo, I’m sorry. Don’t be a pussy.” 

“I’m not a pussy, I just have arachnophobia, you know that, asshole.” Keith says shakily. 

Totally forgot that. His fear of spiders goes as far as a phobia.  _ Good going, Lance.  _ He huffs out, “I’m sorry...you’re still a pussy.” He knuckles his friend’s cheek. 

Keith swats his hand away, a quick jab of an innocent laugh lassoing Lance closer to him. “So, this song a no-go?” _ Blinding Lights _ finished a while ago. Now he can hear the mixed, heavy sounds of Trevor Daniel’s _ Falling _ bleed into him. 

This song really has done things to Lance after leaving his previous partner. Her glamorous, perfect face flashing once again past his eyes. “Yeah, a big no-go. I have a feeling, since it’s a poppy hit, that one of the other pairs might have a steal at it.” 

“You’re right.” Keith agrees, trying to think hard on other songs they can dance to. 

Three songs is alot. And with so many good songs to choose from, Lance’s head has been swimming lately trying to throw a dart on which ones they can have perfect routines to. Creative routines. Routines that'll have heads rolling. And then there’s the matter of what kind of style of dance they want to focus on. 

He asks, “What styles do you wanna try?” 

In return, Keith makes a mulling expression. He keeps on thinking long and hard, like this is a decision that relies on life and death. It sort of does, not gonna lie there. 

His expression lights, slamming a fist in his hand. He looks so….Lance starts to ache a bit in his chest staring at Keith’s excited expression. Clutching his chest, trying not to make it too obvious, Lance angles his head for Keith to share his thoughts. “I would really like to try out hip-hop contemporary.” 

Duly noted. 

Lance smiles his acception for Keith’s suggestion. “Awesome. I think we should do a whole routine based around Fortnite dances!” He shoots in his wish, and is shot down immediately. 

That wonderful bright expression transitions into annoyed so fast, Lance can’t comprehend that his shoulders have been captured in Keith’s clutches, now being shaken. “The fuck is wrong with you, Ninja isn’t the judge. We’re not going to ridicule dancing like that.” Keith slams into him, but with good spirit, there is some hint of an amused smile peeking through. 

“What. We need to be versatile.” Lance says, and is given a loud bellow in return. 

“And Fortnite has the answer.  _ Fortnite _ ?!"

“It has many!” 

For shits and giggles, Lance starts doing the famous Fortnite floss dance. Keith can’t hold back how funny it looks, his laughing gradually gives Lance more want to go faster, so he does. 

“Stop..” Keith groans through his laugh, gripping Lance’s swinging hands, but he keeps swinging them just to grind his friend’s gears.

“Lance!” Keith laughs. “Stoooop!” Finally, Keith has had enough and jumps Lance with his body, falling down on the floor with Keith on top of him. 

His heart begins picking up pace, racing under his chest. Some of Keith’s long hair is all over Lance’s face, smelling of flowers and making him dizzy. “Get.” He grunts, attempting to lift his heavy friend off his body, but damn, he’s denser than he intended Keith to be. His hand curls around a strong bicep and... _ fuck _ . 

Off!” Lance flings, finally, Keith off of him, stealing long breaths to calm his sudden heated state. 

Caught off guard, they both hear Shawn’s raspy voice magically putting a dancing spell on them. Lance is up on his feet again, counting down from ten. His pants slacken- _ good. _ It’s like he’s under a trance hearing Shawny boy sing, creating a streaming flow in his feet as he glides around the room, swaying his hips. 

Beside him, Keith is mimicking his moves, trying to slide in step with him. Already they’re working like a team. Lance starts doing a walking tap with his feet along with the beats of the song, throwing his arms together so his fingertips meet, then sending them away towards his sides. Again, Keith does the same, following his cool rhythm. 

Momentarily, seeing as Keith is getting the hang of dancing in unison with Lance, Lance does a secret move, now startling Keith as he twirls into his friend’s arms. “You know, I’ve been told that I look like him.” Lance winks, grimacing a hair as to why he felt the need to share that information. 

Keith lifts his chin, “Is that so?” He sends out a sharp breath through his nose. “I do see the comparisons, though.” Lance is still in his arms, leaning down like he’s levitating. Keith goes on with a cool and collected demeanour. “You are both stupidly tall, but that’s about it.” He shares at last. 

Stupidly tall? He did not. “Scuse me? Haven’t you seen my tousled brown locks? Million dollar smile. These long, long legs?” He didn’t mean to sound offended, but he would’ve liked being compared to Keith’s favorite singer. Not sure why, but must be the attraction thing he can’t yet explain. 

Keith shrugs lightly, that amazing smile elongating with amusement. “If you say so.” 

“Keith!” Lance prods for mutual agreement. 

It’s not like he’s fuming on him or anything. But like. Lance really can see the similarities between him and the Mendes. Puppy dog eyes, not a warm brown, but still, he does have the same build and high cheek-bone structure. To say the least, he’ll never find someone who looks more similar to The Mendes than Lance McClain himself. 

His glare stays fixed on his friend. The music is still running on autopilot opting over to the next song. And to both their delights, as shown how both sets of brows raise carefully with interest. Lance loves this song, and he bets everything he owns, including his favorite Shrek poster, that Keith loves this song too. 

Temptation overflows his body, bouncing from Keith holding his arms to grabbing his hand spinning out till they’re both at arms length, but Keith’s hand is still laced with his. A smirk traces Lance’s lips, he can feel them crawling with delight. Then he pulls Keith, fast and jolting into him. 

“Well?” Lance croons for a new answer. The correct answer, please. 

Keith’s breathing slides out in uneven bundles. Is it his heart he feels hammering against his chest, or Keith’s? Having him this close again is blind spelling Lance’s vision, but he keeps his eyes fixed on Keith, waiting. “What?” Keith says. “You want me to say I find you hot, too, or something?” He then shares. 

Too? Wait, what?  _ Too???  _ Lance feels like that popular meme, the confused black guy meme with question marks flying around his head. “Too? Keith, what the- wouldn’t that mean that you?” Lance bites his tongue, he doesn’t want to assume anything out loud if he’s completely wrong. 

He swallows. The swallow proves difficult because something is lodged up in his throat and it’s not giving him space to breathe properly. He can still feel someone’s heart hammering, now increased in speed. “I mean-” He tries a different tactic. “I might like it if you-” What is it he’s trying to say? He doesn’t swing that way, and Keith cannot for the life of him, know that he’s attracted to him. 

What is happening? What was supposed to be a fun first day of training, has turned into a full on display of red painted cheeks, stuttering breaths and silent prayers for his friend to think that he’s as hot as The Mendes. The universe definitely has a few screws loose at the moment. Can someone please screw them back in? No? Fine, be like that. 

Wrapped in his embrace, is still Keith, music still blaring through the speakers. But no one seems to want to budge. Not until this matter has flown past them. “Uh-” Lance opens his mouth, but its running animatedly, he doesn’t know what to say. 

  
  


“Kidding! Lance, I-” Keith sends out a series of nervous snickers. His cheeks have risen with heat, a nice red tone coating them. “I won’t say you're hot- uh, er. That came out all wrong, you’re hot! Fuck...I mean.” His hands press on Lance’s chest. “Know what, forget it. You’re being impossible right now, we need to choose songs! How about we-” Keith skitters out of Lance’s embrace and travels to the phone, swiping around until his face lights up, aiming a bemused gaze at Lance when he says, “ _ Dance to this _ .” 

Guitar strings are being pulled, a sensual beat waking every inch of Lance’s being. Troye’s voice seeps into him. Keith, on the other side of the room is already at it, dancing to the song. His feet are tip-toeing around, a hand having fun around his waist, neck gliding. Lance can see the hollowness between his friend’s neck and shoulder, a dip, a nice dip. Then, stopping Lance’s whole heart, Keith does a whole body dip and it has him pinned on the floor. 

“Fuck.” He whispers, being hit square in the jaw with a new wave of temptation. 

Like a magnet pulling him, Lance dances his way to where Keith is lost in Ariana’s sexy voice. His hands land gingerly on each side of Keith’s hips. He feels a hip-point pricking when he presses down on it with his hungry fingers. “Lance?” He hears Keith breathe his name. Keep doing it. Breathe his name. Fan it across his lips when their inches apart. 

Lance takes control. Digs all ten fingers into Keith’s luscious, thick hips and starts guiding him on the floor. They dance together, Keith’s violet eyes never leaving Lance’s.  _ ‘Push up on my body.’  _ Speed enhances his legs and they’ve both been met with a wall. Lance has Keith trapped between his arms, leaned up against the wall, his fair face slowly riding up to catch Lance staring down at him already; silently thinking, wondering, wishing. 

“Are you going to kiss me or not?” Keith whispers inaudibly, his words tumbling out rigorously. 

_ What _ ?

  
  


“What?” Lance says, releasing Keith from up against the wall. 

Keith mirrors him, “What?” Pretending that whatever he said seconds ago have disappeared in thin air. 

Aimfully, Lance glares at Keith, giving him a second chance to repeat what he said. “What?” Keith repeats, harsher this time. 

“Nothing.” Lance lets go of the wall, going back to dancing, dancing as if thunder is slapping the sky. 

“Lance? What’s-” Each word comes out haphazardly, choppy, like he doesn’t know what to say. “Can we- Lance, please.” 

In a rushing fit, Lance springs on his feet, grabbing Keith’s hand and swinging him around to the next song on shuffle. “Alright. How about you explain what you meant by calling me hot, too.” 

He never meant to go all prosecutor on his friend, but Keith has been hiding  _ something. _ The way he’s been avoiding his gaze, how disturbed he was by seeing Lance in his booty shorts, his floundering state being trapped against Lance by so many people crowding it up in the subway car. Even earlier this morning when he heard Keith moaning his name. He didn’t want to say anything in case Keith wasn’t aware of what he was doing in his sleep, but it got Lance trying to do the math. The fucking, adamantly more difficult than calculus, math. 

“Fine, I  _ lik _ e Shawn Mendes.” Keith admits. But that’s old news. Who doesn’t like Shawn Mendes? 

“Everyone likes Shawn Mendes.” Lance points out the truth. 

But Keith’s hotheaded state is not implying that what Lance is saying is correct. “No. Lance. You don’t get it, do you?” Keith runs his teeth along his lower lip, averting his gaze again. Avoiding Lance. Again. 

“Look at me.” Lance pleads. “Tell me. What is it I don’t understand?” 

Everything confident in Keith dissolves. He looks weak, small, like a tiny bird. One hand is gripping his shoulder, nostrils flared, lips being smacked over and over again like he’s building the courage to tell Lance a really big secret. 

Their eyes finally meet. Violet shining brighter than a combusting nebula in the galaxy, like stars have collected together then shot all over the darkened night sky. “There’s something I haven’t told you.” Keith starts. 

So people can change in 8 years, Lance lands on when Keith says two life altering words.

“I’m gay.” 


	24. Chapter 24

_ I’m gay. I’m gay. I’m gay. I’m gay. _

Every single moment Keith came out as gay flicker in his mind like a hula hoop the second his lips betray him. Two words. Two little words, but enormously big in meaning, aimed straight at him like a sack of unwearable, ugly ass clothes to the face. 

His first coming out floods him. It was his 16th birthday, he was a sophomore ready to dominate the halls with his wanted knowledge by the new freshies. Except, anxiety always a stubborn bitch, had him strutting the halls with a few toe-trips along the way. He had known for a while-that he was gay-ever since that summer when he made out with his long-time crush from freshman year, Micah Daniels. Tall, handsome, milk-chocolate silk skin that had Keith’s own skin shivering remembering the soft pillow of plushed pink when they kissed behind the school. They never got together, because Micah wasn’t out, scared to be out, get cast off the lacrosse team. But to Keith, he took it as initiative to finally accept his feelings, his sexuality, once and for all. 

So, he came out to his mother that year, on the very day of his birth. And she...made no big of a deal out of it. Her smile was cool, unsurprised when she opened her arms for Keith to find himself wrapped inside them and a kiss on the crown of his head as she whispered how proud she was that he finally accepted his true self and how brave he was for coming out to her like that. 

The second time was in front of his closest friend during Junior and Senior year, Noor. Wild, fiery Noor. All she did was scream in the hallway and clap her hands vigorously like a seal on speed. 

And the last time he came out, before this wild ride now unfurling before him, was during his Senior graduation. 

Valedictorian and everything, little ol’ nervous, jittery, always a squiggly line across his lips, Keith Jonathan Kogane. He did have the best grades, and was liked by everyone at his school, even the teachers were sad not to have him as a student anymore. Of course, he had to be given the title valedictorian and to hold the expected send-off speech in front of his whole school. To which he found it the right opportunity to help other students afraid of coming out to follow his example. Then he came out. 

Beneath the vibrations of the music, all Keith can hear when those two words escaped him, is the air growing uncomfortable, the music a silent howl almost like crinkling static in his mind as his coming-out memories flash before him. 

Lance has his brows furrowed. Not hard, there’s no crease in the middle, no worry lines or lines that indicate any harshness to him. He doesn’t seem mad, nor surprised to note. But, something is mulling in his head. Like he’s trying to calculate when it was he should have known that Keith has been gay all this time. 

_ Say something _ , Keith urges himself to take a stand and get this whole thing out of the way so that they can go back to normal. Except, he can’t go back to normal. This changes everything. Because he lied to his best friend all this time? Because he’s very much attracted to him and he doesn’t know? Should he tell him that, too?  _ NO! _

Close to opening his mouth, feeling his lips parting slightly, Lance beats him to it, “So…” He says, running to turn the volume of the music down. Rushing back to stand inches away from Keith; not scared of him after he told this truth bomb, that’s a good start. “You like Shawn Mendes?” Lance is fickling his fingers, but his blue eyes are locked on Keith. A hint of a smile is curving, gently, but it’s on its way. 

Keith closes his eyes when he releases a sharp breath, then scrunches his nose a twinkle to his eyes when he admits, “Fuck him hard against the wall like him? Yeah.” He shrugs his shoulders all casually, like he talks like this all the time. 

A second passes. Lance has his lips captured between his teeth before he sucks some air through his teeth, teetering. “Cool.” He finally quips, and that smile is on full display shining so brightly that Keith feels his own heart teetering. 

If only, if only, he thinks, but nods his head catching their odd standing positions in the wall-mirror. Sweat is dripping down the side of his face and Lance’s floppy brown locks are a shade darker around his hairline due to his own sweat. They were dancing pretty fiercely before their little hiccup, but seems like their breathing has gone back to normality. Somewhat. Barely. 

Almost.

There.

“So…” Keith hedges, sending his eyes downwards. His arms jerks when he feels Lance grazing a few fingertips trying to curl around his wrist. They meet eyes. “You’re not mad at me?” 

Lance pulls his head back, a line now forming between his brows. “Mad? Keith, why would I be mad.” Now his whole hand has wrapped around Keith’s wrist, tugging him close. Closer. Closer. 

Warmth envelopes Keith as Lance circles his arms around him pulling him in for an almost suffocating hug. Barely able to breathe, Keith chokes out, “Be...cause-” He hitches, “I lied…” 

“You didn’t lie, mullet.” Lance whispers with a kind voice. 

His hands caress Keith’s arms then glide up to his shoulders to push him back so that they can look at each other. “I’m sorry it took you this long to come out to me.” He then shares, and it has Keith’s eyes pricking violently. 

“Keith!” Lance goes all antsy, not sure what to do with himself. He pulls Keith back into their warm and safe embrace. 

As soon as Lance’s face is gone from his vision, Keith starts bawling. Crying was never a feat known to him. He’s cried twice in his life, that he can remember. The first time when  _ he _ left them, and the second time when Lance left him. 

But now, he can’t stop this rushing waterfall. Through choking sobs, Keith blubbers, “Lance...I’m- You’re the best friend a guy could ever ask for.” He takes the back of his hand and wipes away the deluge of snot running from his nose, staring at his mucus infested hand and then doesn’t see any harm in wiping it away on Lance’s back. 

New vibrations start rattling his bones, they’re coming from Lance’s deep groan. “If this weren't a touchy-feely moment, I’d pound you, mullet.” Lance says with light in his eyes. 

Nothing’s changed. Much. Everything is still topsy turvy. Coming out is never easy, even if it’s to your best friend. Specially when you’ve known for the past 7 years, and you have a thing for said person but can’t tell him. Ugh, why did his life have to be so... _ novel?  _

Now that he was out and about, Keith remembered another detail of his current life. “Uhm-” He speaks up, stealing Lance’s attention. His eyes are so unnerving, a steel colored blue now festering him with...judging? Questions about his sexuality? Can he read him that well now that he’s out? Does he know? “This isn’t gonna be a problem?” Keith asks, walking slowly away from Lance. 

“Problem? You being gay?” It’s almost as if Keith has stabbed him in the chest. “I- I don’t- the hell, Keith, why would I think you being gay is going to be a problem?! Choosing what movie we’re going to see without my consent..now that’s a fucking problem!” He bristles playfully, handing him that million dollar smile. 

Weight comes off his shoulders, one kilo at a time. “But...I can sleep on the futon from now on if you think it’s weird.” 

“Oh my God, Keith! Just because I know you like men now, doesn’t mean I’m going to avoid you like you have cooties. You’re my best friend. You haven’t changed, you’re personality is still the same, you’re still wickedly amazing at dancing, still hot headed as fuck, stubborn, smart- a pussay when it comes to spiders.” 

“Hey!” 

“What, you know it’s the truth.” Lance interjects, winking. “ _ Listen. _ I’m glad you worked up the courage to tell me this important feat about you. Even if I am your best friend and you should have texted me the second you found out - not to guilt-trip - but if you found it reason to hold that information back until now, I’ll accept it, no questions asked.” 

_ No questions asked.  _

What does that even mean? Keith slides his grin into a full blooming smile. “Thanks, man.” 

“Sure.” Lance mirrors his smile. 

It wasn’t going to be a problem. Soon as the comp ends, and Keith keeps his feelings back for Lance, everything will ride out smoothly. They’ll win against Allura and James, then Keith will go back home not sure when the next meet with his friend will be, but at least, his feelings would remain what his sexuality had been till now, secret. 

Something sparks his mind. “I assume you’re straight since we’re doing some sharing time.” Keith guffaws, asking just to humor his friend. 

Also, because he was curious. 

Viciously curious. 

“S-s-straight.” Lance strangles the word out from his throat, being caught completely off-guard by Keith’s sudden question. Keith raises a thick black brow inquisitively, tapping his foot.  _ Well then? _

Lance smacks a hand across his forehead, like he’s trying to wipe away a bucket filled with his sweat. On his very hasty way towards his phone he keeps on repeating, “Straight, straight, straight, straight…” When he finally reaches his phone, avoiding all eye-contact with Keith he continues as he scrolls through his playlist, “Straight as you get them.” Then, to Keith’s surprise, he manages to drag out an odd-as-fuck fake laugh. 

Honestly, Keith would like to think Lance was wincing when he tried to pass a lie-detector, because to be completely fucking honest...it seems that the boy hasn’t come to terms that he might actually be more than...straight. But he’ll let him figure that out on his own. Even if he were bi, pan, demi- what have you, no way would Lance be attracted to his best friend. Better yet, Keith has gotten all the answers he needed. If Lance did like Keith, he’d kiss him the second those two words shot him. 

“Right. Good to know, Lance.” Keith grumbles halfheartedly, very much disappointed. 

Oh well, even if he did try to make a move on him, it would affect their routines gruesomely. He’s sure of it. 

But then Lance counters, “Yeah.” He laughs again, a little too loud. “All fine and dandy. Knowing each other’s sexuality...Now I know how I can wingman you at the clubs-” 

Wingman?  _ Wingman _ ,  _ me _ ...Keith rolls his tongue over his front teeth, keeping the storm raging in his chest calm, feeling it bubble its way towards his throat, then sensing its heat swirling furiously in his irises. 

He swings his head to give Lance a heinous smile, one similar to Adam’s. “Sure thing, bud. But I know how to find guys I wanna fuck hard fine.” 

How had it come to this stupid fight? Is this even considered a fight?

“Do you have a problem with me wanting to wingman you, mullet?” Lance bullets his fists to his hips so fast, stomping his way to Keith once a song pops on the speakers. 

Well then, this has certainly bumped up into some kind of discussion now. 

Keith keeps his expression cool. Demeanor collective. Malicious. He shakes his head idly, staring at nothing in particular. “Nah..I don’t have any issue. Just..can find guys on my own thank you very much. Now...can we choose our songs and get on with figuring out the styles we want and how to actually make a routine together?” The urge to send his nose to the ceiling and look like a dick was so strong, going all hot in his veins to do so. 

Is he angry because Lance doesn’t like him back? Because Lance had to shout to the world that he’s straight, when it was so crystal-fucking-clear that he isn’t! Not that Keith is going to predetermine his friend’s sexuality, but he can see the signs. All of them. He lived them! Went through every single phase. 

Lance lit up like a firework when it comes to the phases. Right now he’s in denial. He has a thing for someone, Keith knows it. Who, he doesn’t know. Preferably, he’d want it to be him, of course. But life doesn’t work justicefully that way. Life likes to pretend you’re an ant and stomp on you whenever it feels like it to show it has power over you. And that you’re nothing. Nothing. Worthless. 

But Keith isn’t worthless. Neither is Lance. They have something worth living for. 

Dance. 

Their legs kick into high gear, doing their own things. Lance does a few leaps in the room, practices on sliding his body without it looking rickety and sloppy. Keith goes into his pop and locking, also practicing on his moonwalks, making them look effortlessly done. 

Spinning and spinning, Lance bumps into Keith. “Woops, sorry there, mullet.” He says through panted breaths, but doesn’t feel the need to leave. 

“Was there anything you’d like to share, Lance?” Keith sighs irritatingly, their fight still lingering in his chest. 

Lance slides his lips far across one side of his golden face, eyes going into slits. “Fine, then. So, like these guys you can get...how attracted we talking...cuz, like, with my help, I guarantee you quality product.” His blue eyes glimmer with excessive migling. 

“ _ Quality _ ?  _ Product _ ? Guys aren’t animals, Lance.” Keith laughs. 

“Okay, but, what kinda guy do ya like. You must be attracted to the nerdy guys...Cuz I’m like a 20 outta 10, and it’s not like you’re attracted to-” Their eyes meet wide as craters. 

Then the door slams open. 

  
  


***

“Okay, let’s get down to business. You sissies do the homework?” Adam slings off his Nike duffle bag, throwing it into a corner then makes his way to Lance and Keith. 

_ The songs. _

Christ on a bike, they had been too worked up on their sexualities, on how to hit on boys and how other guys were not considered quality brand products, to remotely even remember that Adam was coming by. Seriously. Why must this come up now of all times, even that stupid little slip out from Lance’s peachy mouth.

Attracted to what? Him? Shrek in a bikini? Him. He's gotta mean himself. Still, what was he going to say before Adam rolled around in the nick of time? He needs to, needs to know.

Thinking about it. Like,  _ yeah _ , Keith might have spilled the beans right then and there on how effingly, ridiculously attracted he is to his best friend. 

He wanted to wring it right out; make it all confession time. Tell Lance, that yeah, he does like how his body looks in sweats, in swab-ass good looking garb, in his boxers, hells even in his dreams when he’s been buck naked. How his laugh has his heart sending. How his stupid, goofy, precious smile has him weak in the knees, makes him wish he could chop down a whole field of sunflowers and give them to him. That his dancing is everything that makes the world able to spin, make everything seem rational, that he always has Keith still on his toes. 

But he won’t. Because Adam came in right on the money. 

Sign. It’s a sign.

Keep your trap shut. 

So he'll do so, for the time being. 

Adam cocks a golden brow timidly, moving his face from left to right. From Lance to Keith. 

He might have come in at a bad time, but that's not his fault, they knew he was coming by to coach them.

With their gazes blazing hotly through Adam's skull, he opens his mouth, "Did I interrupt anything?" His head is tilted forward a snag, lips creeping up to meet his cheeks. 

Enough with the smug look. God, it's scary how similar him and Lance are. Definitely family, inside and out, unfortunately. 

"Nothing of interest to you, tìo." Lance shoots back all bored trying to wave everything that happened before he came in off. 

Adam doesn’t bite. His eyebrow slides up even higher, one eye twitching glaringly. "Lance, you do know I'm your only source of gossip in this country." His tone cuts out sharper than Lance's, that twinkle in his eyes revealing anything but being nice. "I know everything. If I don’t know it now, I will find out sooner or later. Hell, I might already know." He says at last wearing his signature smug look, the very one Lance must have inherited. 

"Then there's no bother going into it. Can we choose songs now?" Lance's voice is hard to decipher. Is he hurt? Mad? Furious? Confused? 

No time to read him as Adam claps his hands for attention. "So you didn’t pick any songs?” He says like it was expected, accusingly, lowering his eyelids slowly then lidding them open like some kind of villain with powerful, church organ background music, lightning clapping the ground, the whole shebang basically. 

“We got caught up dancing once the music started, don’t bite us in the ass, we’ll pick’em, tío.” Counters Lance, making a steal at his phone, flicking through a couple songs that they discussed dancing to on the train. 

There’s still a brick wall of tension stacking between them, Keith acknowledges. He should have just kept his mouth shut. No use telling your best friend you’re gay if he’s going to ignore you for the rest of eternity. 

“Keith?! This one good?” Lance hollers for him when he blasts Justin Bieber’s  _ Sorry _ on the speakers. 

Both him and Adam rapidly shake their heads. Keith makes a large x with his arms. “No Bieber!” He shouts over the weird dolphin sounds in the song. 

“Okay…” Lance pulls his lips into a displeased line, shooting both his thin brown brows up to his hairline. “Then this one?” 

_ Lose Control  _ by Meduza reverberates, that gives Keith an idea. “Lance, put on their other song.” He commands, and Lance go figures. 

One echoing beat, then two, then one, then two more and  _ Piece of Your Heart _ pierces through the room with its beguiling rhythm and directly into Keith. Into his ears, having him lid his eyes to focus on the beat, on the sound, the low, dark voice singing the lyrics. His head bobs to the beats, swinging his shoulders trying to figure out a routine. 

Five, six, seven, eight- 

The bass beats finally surge into him and his feet move effortlessly, floating around the hardwood floor while his arms do intricate moves. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but it has both Lance and Adam impressed with his moves. 

He tips his feet to their toes, keeps them there while the artist sings the popular-

_ Da, da, da, uh, uh _

_ Down, down, down _

And Lance is there, next to him, sharing a giddy smile, the very one he plasters on whenever dancing has his blood boiling all set for another fantastic routine to knock’em all dead. 

The song ends, both of them breathless and Adam clapping. But not without any critic. He goes on his tangent with what can be worked with. Coming with suggestions for certain types of dance styles that can be impressive to the judges, how Lance should stop and observe Keith more. That grinds his friend a cinch, he sees as Lance’s jaw is working to keep down any hurtful words towards his tío’s coaching. 

Adam saunters to Lance’s phone, unlocks it and finds a new song for them to try out. It’s still the first day, they have close to three months before the comp. 

“We’ll play it by ear as we go along.” Adam says, with amazingly light spirit. Maybe it’s been awhile since he got to coach his nephew like this. “We’ll start off easy before I go into whooping your asses.” 

Lance throws his hands in the air, pumping them mockingly as he cheers with distaste, “Whoop. Whoop.” 

  
  


***

“My ass hurts like a bitch!” Lance rubs his backside while they leave the station. 

Seems like their  _ small _ cunfuddlement has become one with the past. No use bringing it up again, not when Lance is paying attention to other things. Keith doesn’t feel like the conversation would go well anyways. Just keep it as it is for now, and maybe, after the comp if he still feels this way, he’ll tell Lance what’s happening to his heart. 

Adam wasn’t kidding when he promised to whoop their asses. Everywhere that’s considered a body part is mutilated. He’s sore to the core of his very bones after Adam kicking and screaming for them to dance, dance, dance. Not that Keith is gonna complain. They managed to pick a song each for the comp and a style. The routines are gonna be amazing, he can feel it all tingling in the tips of his toes. 

However, that leaves them to choose the final song. 

A new argument broke out between him and Lance while they went song hunting. None of the songs felt right. They didn’t feel like a big finale song. Like a song that can make them form the best routine that’ll guarantee that Coran guy wish there really was a remake of that Voltron show, and Lance and Keith’s routine was how the refined version would look like. 

“The Chainsmokers?” Lance cuts him from the rope he was hanging on. 

Keith falls into step with his friend while they try to pass a group of school kids snickering and chattering in fast, fluent Japanese. The weather’s nice too this time of day. Close to 7PM and the sun is all set but there isn’t a chill in the air, more of a settling warmth that gives off spring vibes. 

Spring. Keith smiles, he loves the spring, and was told that the cherry blossoms this time of year when they bloom are magical. Lance said he’d take Keith to a cherry blossom forest once they bloom. A pang clutches his chest. He did say that before Keith’s small slip up, will he still want to take him? He won’t see it as something... _ romantic?  _

Jolting, Keith startles when Lance claps a hand on his shoulder. “Yo. You still with me?” 

“Yeah. Sorry, I was just...thinking.” Keith tugs the corner of his lip up. 

For some odd reason, could be the warmth dappling the weird weather, but he notices how blushed Lance’s cheeks are. “Ah..” He skips out a small laugh. “Thinking, right.” 

“You mentioned The Chainsmokers?” Keith changes the subject before it skips onto forbidden terrain. “Did you want to choose one of their songs as the final routine?” 

“Only if you wanna.” 

Keith hums for a tick. The Chainsmokers do have great songs, but the majority are dragging and not quick paced enough to do the type of routine they want to close the show with. Also, they’re allowed to use props for the final song and Keith wants them to be as creative as possible, but again, not make it too much either. Find that perfect balance. 

Perfect. Balance. Keith swings his gaze catching Lance hopping on one foot with both arms out to keep his balance.  _ Balance.  _ He almost falls on his feet, guffawing while laughing at almost falling. “Well?” He asks, lifting both the corners of his lips, a small, cute dimple making an appearance to steal Keith’s heart. 

All that regret he had washes away by a cool wave. Right now, he’s happy he came out to his friend. He deserved to know, and he accepted Keith. Nothing else has to happen. Not yet. Maybe. 

That perfect song is bound to soon hit him like an arrow nocked straight for his chest, and a whole routine will already be presented to him and it’ll be the winning routine. “We’ll keep thinking. We got time.” 

Lance sends him an agreeing nod. “How about a game then? We can’t go home yet…” 

“Why can’t we go home?” 

“No reason, but Adam was really sweaty when he was done with us and having two other people living with him and Shiro in a reasonably small apartment.” There’s no second thought about it, Lance’s cheeks are illuminating. Keith could seriously use his cheeks as glow sticks at an idol concert. 

Suppressing any mocking retorts and playful remarks on Lance’s embarrassment talking about his uncles doing the dirty deed, he simply kicks into a sprint, “Okay, one game. Winner picks tonight's movie.” And he runs into high gear. 

“No fair!” Lance yells behind him. 

They make it to the game center in Shibuya. It looks more refined than the one in Akihabara, but it’s the same company.  _ Sega.  _ With big, blue bold letters and a white outline, it illuminates the city from the roof of the building. This one is huge too, comparing it to the ones he been in so far. There’s a bowling alley in the basement, batting cages and pool rooms incorporated with this center, too. 

Bowling, as everyone knows, specially Lance, is not Keith’s cup of tea. Even if he is actually really good at it. Pool and batting cages are new to him, would have been cool to try that out some time. But right now, they race to find two free Dance Rush Stardom machines. 

The escalators stop on the 5th floor, on the crane game floor, Keith’s favorite.  _ Not. _ Which means they have to jungle through the entire floor of crane games like it’s a maze to find the stairs that continue up to the music games. 

While they walk, Lance pointing to every single machine that hosts a cute stuffed animal he wants, Keith crashes into him. “Why did we stop?” He asks all confused to why they’re not moving. 

He gets it though. Why Lance has stiffened up. In front of them they see a gorgeous, dark skinned, light haired girl trying to win a chubby, fluffy unicorn. Pounding lightly on the game dash when the unicorn falls back into its original spot.

Shocked and amazed, Keith starts poking Lance's shoulder, “Lance, that’s…”

“Shh...shhh...if we’re really quiet, we can walk past her.” Lance says incredibly low, going as precisely as possible to walk past her to not gain any attention.

Keith doesn’t understand. Sure, he’s seen her as this kind of rival to compete and win against, but she’s here, in the flesh! Doesn’t Lance want to ask for her autograph or something? Ask her to dance with them?! That would have been both blind spelling and also shake his insides causing him to find the nearest restroom. 

“Lance-” 

Lance waves his hand in a rushing motion for Keith to keep quiet.  _ But there are sounds everywhere!, _ Keith scowls, but lets the boy go on with his ridiculous plan to tip-toe past her.

The crane game starts up again, she’s clearly sucked into the game so that clearly gives Lance the signal to run past her. “Now, while she’s too focused.” Lance hisses and starts sprinting like he’s a ghost. 

He succeeds to flit past her, only for his shoulders to rise and his head to drop at the English sound of, 

“Lonce?!” 


	25. Chapter 25

It was supposed to be the perfect getaway. The magnificently quickly planned grand escape of the century. A crane game that sucked in her attention. A cute, fluffy stuffed animal that would steal her beautiful gaze, keep it lingered for a momentous moment for him to sprint past without her even hearing the beat of his heart. 

And yet. 

_ Lonce! _

_ AND. YET! _

“Lonce, what are you keeping at?!” Allura shouts over the sling of melodies on the crane-game floor, stopping Lance midway through his grand escape of the century. 

Stuffed animals! Lura loves stuffed animals, specially the chubby ones. How is it that a streak of tan skin was able to detect her perfectly enhanced peripheral vision? The blasted woman has always been deemed a species beyond their own, but-  _ come on. _

Just one break. That was all Lance was wishing for while he flitted past the white-haired goddess. He knew eventually he’d have to meet her face-to-face with Keith by his side, but not after their little- heh, _ little _ \- mix up earlier in the studio. 

He’d finally learnt that Keith is gay. That he swings for the sex with schlongs. To be frank, he had no idea whether to be happy or frustratingly agitated now that he knows the truth about his best friend’s sexuality. In retrospect, he has no idea how to approach him anymore. 

Because he’s so seemingly attracted to him? 

Lance still has his shoulders touching his ears, sagging them inch by inch as he lifts his head slowly while still mulling on the fact that he’s attracted to his best friend. His gay best friend, and he didn’t do anything about it. 

Someone should throw a dozen semis at him for being a numbskulling coward. It’s just a kiss. If Keith didn’t return it, then problem solved. Right?  _ Wrong.  _

If Lance had kissed him right on the spot like that without any fair warning that your most likely very straight best friend is going to kiss you on the lips, he’d think he was trying to experiment with him, or that it was some fucking crazy pull to show how he accepted his sexuality. 

Kissing Keith would have been a fucking mess. A disaster bound to end in crackling, dangerous flames. He even said so to Lance, he thinks he’s straight. But the problem is, he’s not sure anymore what he is. 

“Lance!” 

Hearing Keith’s voice boom past Lura’s posh shouting and the melodic jingles of crane games has him craning his neck catching Lura sporting a disbelieving look made purely of her queenly attitude; a little smirk claiming those baby-pink glossed up lips, her blazing crystal blue-eyes reading him through and through. Keith, on the other hand, is wearing an obvious look projecting nothing other than being potently aghast by the whole grand escape that bombed badly.

Could be the cause of Lance’s sudden unpredicted need to run past one of his friend’s dancing idols without explaining why. Not that he could blame him. Frankly, anyone in the dancing world wouldn’t have let flitting away in escape from one of the best dancers in the world in their age range even give access to cross their dancing skulls. 

“He-ey….well, that was a fun ride.” Lance jokes, but the mood has shifted dramatically in their little triangular bubble surrounded by brightly lit, pink crane games. 

Lura shakes her head at Lance with high-raised eyebrows, then swifts lightly on her heel to meet with Keith. “So you must be Lonce’s partner, I assume? I’m-”

“Allura Altea.” Keith breathes her name in amazement, his expression is picantly adorable, like a child has met their hero. Remembering his fanboy phase when he met with Adam and Shiro, his expression isn’t any different, except for one thing. “You know Lance?” He asks warily, cocking his head past her so that his indigo eyes can burn in and through Lance’s. 

Slithering that indigo beam into him, Lance can feel the pulsation of Keith’s question for Lura seep into him and send chills biting down his spine.  _ Fuck.  _ He has no idea how Lura is going to respond to Keith’s spitballing question. Will she tell him the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help him? Or will she get that she cannot, absolutely  _ cannot _ tell him the  _ whole  _ truth. 

She cranes her neck, crystal blues staring at the toes of his Adidas kicks then scanning them agonizingly slowly up along his revealed tan shins, his thighs, abdomen, shoulders then meeting his helpless hollowed out gaze. He tries to scream at her with his own blue eyes not to tell Keith everything, that she needs to just... _ get it.  _

Pleadingly, or, trying not to seem so loud with his helplessness enough for Keith to read him like an open book, because the boy can read him like a picture book, she takes the hint loud and clear, flashing a wink faster than her own flawless spins. 

Her small, dainty hand extends when she cranes back to Keith and introduces herself properly answering Keith with a semi-truth, “Yes. I do know Lonce. Quite well, actually. Him and I go way back-” Then she shoots her heinous, villainous laser glare back to Lance, “Don’t we, Lonce?” Another impaling flashy wink. 

“Way back?” Keith repeats low, trying to equate an impossible equation, like numbers and letters are floating around his head. 

Lance sighs loudly, trudging over to snake an arm over Keith to bring him in, closing the space between them. They’re barely a breath’s space away in their proximity, leaning close before Lance catches Lura studying Lance. Her gaze is telling him something he still doesn’t hasn’t figured out himself, a faint light glowing over her facial expressions. Features going from studiously tense, staring from Lance to Keith, Keith cocking a brow at Lura, then Lura relaxing her features, mouth curling into some form of recognition. 

Again, her eyes bore into Lance’s like she’s trying to tell him something, but all he sees is a magenta flame manifesting in the smoky coils of her icy blue irises. He had no wish to know what it was she was thinking, only leaning in closer to Keith to say, “I’ll explain everything later, I promise.” 

“Why can’t you just tell him we met at a dance comp? It’s as simple as that, you knob.” Allura huffs as she rolls her eyes, going back into bitch-mode. Her arms are tightly crossed, hip sent out brusquely to the side, looking extremely good in those tight blue jeans.

Just as he assumed, the look she gave Lance after studying him and his plead to not say more has her green. So Hulking green it’s almost sickening. 

_ There was a reason why I left you,  _ he crinkles his eyes at her figure for a split second, tracing the angry lines around her small pink mouth as he knows how furious she still is with him. No one fucks with Allura Altea, she’s the one who fucks with everyone else. Yeah, well, Lance beat her to it, game over, bitch.

“Don’t you have your own partner or your current boy-toy to pester with your painfully bad retorts, Lura?” Lance says, casting a gaze beyond her to see if he could spot a certain French douche. Le douche to be accurate, and given by Lura’s turned smirk, she knows how much Lance can’t stand the snooty croissant. 

Lura sucks in a nasaled breath, huffing out all annoyed that Lance is even talking. Well, looks like she’s back to her usual self now. Can Keith please acknowledge how evil she is and why it is insanely dire to beat her in the comp and why he needed to sneak past her to avoid...all of this?! 

“Lotor’s not here right now...had something better to do he said, and he’s not my  _ boy-toy. _ ” Her strong crossed arms tighten, it’s easy to see her muscular stature through her expensive white laced blouse. She directs a long perfectly manicured finger between Lance’s eyes, “I’ll have you know, that Lotor is the one crawling and begging for my attention, not the other way around. I can get anyone I want.” Then she has the audacity to give Keith a very subtle stink-eye. No one would be able to detect it unless you knew her through and through, like Lance. 

Stately oblivious, Keith intervenes, “And James?” 

“Scuse me?” Lura furrows her exquisitely arched brows, giving Keith a soft look though even if her words cut out a little too sharp. 

He did have a fair question, Lance tags along nodding for Lura to answer him. “James? Your partner, is he...uh- is he here?” Keith stutters, his jaw little more tensely clamped than usual. 

_ Interesting.  _

True, he did briefly mention that him and James went to the same academy, that they were aquatined. But how well acquainted we talking? Now that he knows that Keith likes guys, could it be that-? Please, fuck, do not let James be here, Lance doesn’t know how he’ll react if him and Keith really were- 

“James had something to do. That’s why I’m here to kill off some time before we go back to practice.” Lura informs, her head slightly slanted, long nails tapping on her tricep. “Why? You know each other?” She says incredulously. 

Keith nods, “Yeah, he didn’t tell you?” 

“No. He decided to leave that information out, I presume.” Lura slides her lips roughly to the side, clear that she doesn’t like being lied to or kept in the dark. “How you two know each other? Same dance academy? Ex-boyfriend?” Her head nods up for a tick, showing her interest in the matter, but there’s a certain devious light playing in those magenta inflamed eyes when she mentions the words  _ ex _ and  _ boyfriend _ , sliding those pupils directly at Lance. 

Blunt. Always so fucking blunt, Miss Altea of England. How could she even know that Keith is even gay? Is she even remotely aware that you can’t just assume someone’s sexuality given by their looks. Even if she is a great judge of character, and, not wrong about Keith’s sexual preference. 

But Lance was abidingly curious, swinging to face Keith when the question landed on him. His eyes were hard to decipher; pupils somewhat widened but still miniscular, could be the damn bright lights from the ceiling, and all of the brighter than the fucking sun, crane games surrounding them. Damn the lights for masquerading Lance wanting to know the dirty deeds of his best friend. Not that he would care if Keith dated James, that sickly pale looking fake-ass British accented, stupid always spiky brown- 

“Uh- no, we did go to the same dance academy...roommates actually, but nothing...more.” Keith averted looking into anyone’s eyes, schooching past both Lura and Lance. “How about we go bring on a sweat on the music game floor, Lance? We still have a final song to choose and one of us needs to decide a movie for tonight.” He tries hard to save himself from the sudden accusatory drag by their fiendish, strikingly beautiful companion. 

Lura’s whole body lights up by the sudden sentiment. “Oh! I love those games, may I join you, please? I have nothing else to do until James comes back, and this horrendous game is not allowing me to win this adorable unicorn.” 

To no one’s second guess, Keith walks back to the crane game Lura had been playing, fishing out a 100 yen coin and slipping it into the slot. Menacingly focused and gaining the focus of both Lance and Lura, he presses the first arrow button that makes the claw go forward, eyeing the inside of the machine with a hawk’s gaze, happy with the position as he nods to himself just a smidge, then presses the second arrow button that swings the claw to the right, a little bit more, bit more, right, there. Then he lets it drop staring at both Lura and Lance with a bland expression allowing the crane to do its business without his attention on it. 

And just like that, a chubby unicorn has made its escape. “You did it!” Lura celebrates by bending down to fish out the stuffed animal, casting a long look at it then at Keith, and with a small pout forming on her pink lips, she smashes the plush against Keith’s hands. 

“Woah, it’s yours, Miss Altea. I won it for you, you seemed so sad.” Keith prowls, waving his hands in refusal for the plushed unicorn he won with his secret mad skills in crane games. 

_ What can’t he do? Fucking whizz kid. _

All of Lura’s white teeth shine up even brighter than the floor itself when she nuzzles her face into the plushed unicorn, her smile blooming along the soft material. “I can’t thank you enough, Keith.” She eases into a lazy smile, “Listen, I’m sorry for trying to seem intimidating towards you. Lonce is still quite dear to me and seeing that he has a new partner and all-” Her eyes shift, but it leaves her expression quickly. “Well, it made my skin sizzle a little. But you seem ever the fine chap. I’ve heard stories of you- all this sorry excuse for a dancer could talk about was you now that I think back.” She thumbs at Lance, her tongue slipped out between her lips playfully. 

“Alright, that’s enough coming from you- you insufferable little-” Lance mutters the last searing segment only for Lura to hear him as he pushes her towards the stairs that go up to the music games. “Since we’re stuck with her, Lura might as well show us some of her skills on the dance machine? You might be flawless on the dancefloor, but how do you fair on a flickering dance pad, Miss Altea?” Lance challenges.

It had been a while since he’d seen her dance up close. Almost close to two years to be on the money of accuracy. And his toes were curling to see her dance again. Because even if she was a menace, she still was one of the best dancers out there. There certainly was no doubt about that. 

And Keith. Well, if he got side-tracked into a spell watching her dance for a while, maybe his questions about Lance’s history with the dark-skinned deity would dissolve from his mind. 

He crossed all of his fingers for that. 

***

Speaking of being side-tracked, Lura went and gone with choosing  _ Jopping _ by SuperM to compete on the rainbow flickering dance machines. She even wanted to go up against Keith of all people. His face turned as flusteredly red as the ketchup a maid at a maid café would squirt on your cute little omurice. 

“M-e…? You sure you wanna go up against me? Lance is your friend, and-” Keith shambles around in his flustered state. Granted, Lance might have acted like he was still good friends with Lura around Keith, enough for him to feel comfortable around one of his idols. But she was still that to him...an idol. In his eyes, she is the amazingly talented dancer he looked up to until his anxiety said to call it quits with appreciating watching her dance. 

Meaning, that to be chosen to dance along side her, remembering his skyrocketing anxiety that loves to mess with his feet, he’s most likely in an odd stupor either ridiculously excited to plunge into a speedy tap-a-thon against her, or, he’s dying inside inwardly wishing for Lance to swoop in and save the day. However, Lance wants to see how this plays out. 

Keith needs to be exposed to his fears, and Lura is the most fearsome of them all. It will do him well to dance head on head with her, despite the needles pricking his skin, the inside of his veins, causing his feet to stumble over each other, his points to drop tremendously. This will be the trigger effect that can save him. 

So Lance does nothing to save his friend’s prickling skin. 

Even if he gives him a fast look that spells out a call for help, Lance twirls a finger for Keith to focus on the screen and shoots him two encouraging finger guns his way, his tongue caught between his teeth thinking he looks swab as fuck in front of his best friend. 

_ Jopping  _ isn't remotely close to being a difficult song to dance on the pad, but Lance can feel Keith’s reluctancy singe through a groan only for him to catch as it slides along his skin, boring into his bones. “Come on, Keith. Take one for the team!” Lance shouts as the music starts up, a loud roaring applause taking control of the speakers then- 

Lura shows no indication that she hasn’t played on one of these machines before. Her feet are glued to the pad, like it’s a second skin under her soles, or a perfectly fitted pair of sneakers, twirling like she’s floating in thin air. Her tap sequence slides into a Sonic the Hedgehog speed, Lance can barely keep up with her feet as they step perfectly on all the marks on the screen. Entrancing and alluring, his past dance partner. She’s not even looking at the screen, she obviously knows the dance by heart, the thumping beats hammering into her, her body gliding and bopping likes she’s dancing in one of the clubs they used to storm in the middle of the night even if they had practice in the morning, being allowed in with their fake ids and dancing till the sun rose up on the horizon.

So many memories overflows Lance’s mind while he focuses on Lura dancing it up, jopping to the song, hitting the targets with capital letters spelling out in hiragana,  _ excellent _ , her Colgate smile elongated the entire time. 

He’s been so transfixed on keeping up with Lura’s godly dancing, that he forgot whom she was up against. As if being swung in the gut by a sledge hammer, finally observing how Keith is faring dancing next to one of his biggest rivals of the century, Lance has the wind knocked straight out of him. 

How does one describe the feeling that makes your whole body threaten to melt into a puddle on the floor? Anxiety who? Lance wants to double over laughing pointing a mocking finger at Lura, because there’s no competition. Keith is surreptitiously crushing her on the dance pad. 

Just like Lura, he’s not even giving the screen a second glance, going with the primal instincts searing the soles of his feet, rainbow flickers shooting out for each slap and tap he hits with those magical feet. Lance is floored by how happy Keith looks hitting the marks flawlessly, his score the same as Lura’s. 

They come to a jumping sequence, the ever awaited long sequence of jopping, that can steal a little more air than one anticipates, but they both show no backing down-  _ ‘Cause when we jumping and popping, we jopping’,  _ the jumping starts, and the pair look like two peas in a pod, perfectly synchronized landing their feet on the pad, small lines of dotting rainbows soaring along the pad, then levitate a split second, keeping it up for almost a whole minute and a half. Keith hammering his fist as he jops, being lost in the moment, another dancer’s high, his competitive impulse, manifesting. 

Anger encapsulates Lura, her own strength trying to mask over her weakness. She tries hard not to let Keith keeping it up with her egg her on, but it’s so hilariously obvious how much this is getting under her skin, and Lance is living and breathing for every second of it. 

_ Show'em who’s fucking boss, Keith. _ Lance wishes Keith could read minds, hearing him cheering him on. 

Who is he kidding? “Fucking mutilate her, Keith!” Lance screams past the loud blasting music, clapping to the beats of the song in tandem to Keith and Lura’s jumping marathon. 

Keith’s grin widens when Lance’s cheer reaches him, the final sequence in the distance of the screen almost nearing for them to hit all the marks. This sequence looks hefty, zig-zags in the form of a never ending spiral. It’ll have them digging their own graves if they hit all the marks, and dizzy for days on end. 

To no one’s grudge, Lura and Keith share a brief challenging look, a small spark flickering in the middle . Keith looks menacing, it does something to Lance’s stomach. Raising all the hairs on his neck and arms. Nonetheless, Lura doesn’t show any hint of intimidation by his hauntingly dark expression. 

Proving she’s not unnerved, she swings her stare at Lance with Keith’s stare following suit and blows Lance a kiss. The hell was that? Was that all to fuck with Keith? The kiss did nothing to him, though. Shockingly. Fine, he was the one who left her, but to be honest with himself, he thought there were still some lingering feelings inside him, but nothing. 

The kiss doesn’t unnerve Keith, it seems. What the hell was Lura’s ploy? Does she think Keith has a thing for Lance, or, is she still hung up on the fact that Keith is on the verge of beating her perfect ass, and that blowing a good luck kiss aimed at Lance would have him trip over his feet? 

No. The kiss simply energizes Keith’s adrenaline. On the screen, the colorful marks in pink, yellow and blue appear in bold, wide rectangles and they jump right into it. With absolutely no hesitation. Lance tries to keep his eyes scanning all of the marks on the screen, but they’re passing by so fast he can’t keep up. However, looking down at the pair’s feet, his eyes start rolling around on their own after a while following every step but that too proves too much for his head as his brain starts throbbing from all of the dizzying moves going on within the span of 30 seconds. 

Sweat induced to the core, the songs stops with the both of them landing on one final, satisfying jump, doubling over their knees to catch their ever needed oxygen. “Who-” Lura has faltered to her knees, sending her glistening darkened face up to Lance, still stealing the air around her, “won?” She pants out. 

Keith is bent over his hips, hands gripping them as he too tries to pull in air for dear life. “Yeah?” He breathes heavily, whipping one look at Lance, then at Lura. 

They both meet eyes, Keith and Lura, keeping them paved at each other like concrete drying, chests rising and falling quickly, keeping their backs straight, all the way until Lance sees the score on the screens. 

Well, it’s not a tie. Someone has won over the other, but with no more than two points more than the other, shockingly. It was a hard run, but Lance needs to announce them a winner now that there is one. 

Where’s a green screen when you need one? Lance wanted to reveal the winner with a bang. With explosions of fireworks lighting up the sky, a crowd cheering from Times Square or from the Shibuya crossing. This deserves all of the grand gestures out there. Mostly because it sparked a form of hope. For him and-

“Keith.” He simply says like it’s no argument, plastering on a very delicious smug smile all the same to goad it at Lura. 

Lura shoots her body around to read the scores, disbelieving Lance’s little cocky smile. Her expression when she turns back to him is as open as any Dr. Seuss book. 

One neko, two neko, red neko, blue neko. 

_ You lost, princess,  _ Lance creeps his jubilant lips up into a celebratory smirk having it reach his eyes when her hotly blazed gaze volcanoes back to Lance, sending his brows up once for good cocky measure. Oh, it feels so good to rub this in on her stupid ass perfectly shaped body. 

The warmth around them cools to a shivering chill. Keith has sweat beads rising from his temples still, racing down his high cheekbones, one of them now sliding down his scar. His chest is still heaving after air, but his smile is broad, eyes lightened with satisfactory and surprise embracing them. 

Hopping off the dance pad, patting an elegant hand on Lance’s shoulder, he sends out a small hiss when Lura's nails dig into his skin, “Well, that was a nice pre-workout sweat. Guess switching me out with Keith as your partner was the right call, Loncey-Lonce.” She says the words in Lance’s ear, but he knew they were aimed to strike at Keith when she tips her pointed chin up at Keith, lashes brushing her cheeks as her smile elongates into something merciless. 

“Looks like James is here!” Lura chides as she fishes out her phone, showing the text to no one in particular. “If I don’t see you two, then we’ll have a grand old time at the banquet, no?” 

Lance grabs at her shoulder, hard, “Lura...you said you wouldn’t…” He hollows out, sending a look at Keith, who’s brows have dug forth a thick line smacked in the middle, but his eyes aren’t saying anything.

“I kept back some information, Lonce.” Lura takes back her shoulder from Lance’s grasp, planting a single finger on the bridge of his nose, the tip of her manicured nail creating a slice. “Deal with this. He deserves to know some of the truth. Toodles.” Then she wiggles her fingers at Keith, receiving a wiggle of fingers back from his friend. 

Before she makes two steps, Lance grounds out, since it might be awhile till they meet again, “Tell that fuckwad, Gal’Ra, I still hate his ass.” 

“It’s pronounced  _ Ra _ , Lonce. Get it right if you’re going to insult him…and you can tell him yourself at the banquet. We’ll talk in a month!” Then she walks down the floor, stealing every single pair of game-focused eyes in the building. 

“Why the fuck they gotta spell it that way then, fucking Frenchmen.” Lance mutters under his breath, concocting a better set of insults he’ll have ready to fire when they finally meet again.

“Hey..Lance?” Keith startles him from his list-making, catching the back of his head with a nervous hand swinging around on the heel of his foot to be in Keith’s diameter. 

Damn that witch with her evil schemes. She had this planned all along. “Keith..” Lance says his name with an apologetic tone. “Can we take it on the way home?” 

Keith nods and they leave the game center in a flitting motion, one more successful than Lance’s grand escape of the century.

Once they make it outside, walked to Harajuku and have bought themselves some well earned crepés; Keith ordering cheesecake and Lance strawberry shortcake, they stay close to the vendor as they dig into the delicious sweet dessert while they finally get to talking. 

With his mouth full of cake, a small dab of cream on the outer corner of his lip, Keith bemuses, “So, you and Allura used to be partners?” He spoons another generous amount of cake and whip cream and airs it into his mouth, a cute grin forming on his adorable face. 

Lance almost chokes on his own cake at the sight. Pounding his chest a couple times, he clears his throat, giving Keith yet another apologetic look. “Yeah.” He directs his gaze away from Keith, averting any prosecuting lingering stares from his best friend, “We used to be partners. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Keith.” 

He still has some creamy cake resting on the corner of his lip. Does Lance dare? Fingers itching, it’s excruciating not to send one of his fingertips to brush it lightly across the corner of his friend’s mouth, but he can feel his heart turning into thunder under his chest at the thought of doing something so... _ obvious. _

“Don’t think about it.” Keith cracks him out of his decision like a whip. He digs his spoon into his crepe, going deep when he asks, “So, what happened?” Another squeal of delight hums out of him when the spoon of creamy sweetness hits his tongue. 

_ Screw it _ . Lance leans close, grabbing Keith’s chin with his thumb, brushing some scratchy stubble, then swipes his forefinger gently across the corner of Keith’s mouth, heart almost bursting out of his chest before he says low, “Alot.” 

Keith whispers in reply, not doing anything about Lance’s lingering finger now moving to brush along the warm, soft texture, “Like?” He asks, Lance’s finger falling with his lower lip.

What is happening? It’s killing him not to lean in and brush his lips against Keith’s. For Christ’s sake, he’s letting him trace his lips with his fingertip, so what’s not a pair of lips? He swallows hard, pulling his finger back tasting the cream that stained it, and then the rest of him when he explains, “If I tell you, you’ll see a smashed crepe on the wall right there.” A disheartened snicker reverberates from his chest when he points to the wall they’re eating next to. 

Their close encounter evaporates, but something is still roaming the air between their locked gazes. 

Something burning brightly in the middle. 

“That bad, huh?” Keith finishes off his crepé, pressing the remains of the pancake in his mouth. 

Lance can’t help but shake his head amusingly at how his friend chooses to eat a crepé. “Yeah…” Is all he grounds out, also finishing off his own crepé, extending his hand for Keith to hand him the paper that was wrapped around their dessert and toss it in the bin next to them. 

They pick up their pace, begin walking towards the station. It’s funny, Harajuku looks different at night. Couples with laced hands are enjoying a peaceful walk along the tight streets, the closed high-end stores lighting up from the side streets. Beautiful, truly, Tokyo, and all of its other unthinkable beauty it has to offer. Even the shopping streets are crafted for strolling pleasantries. 

So Keith is out. That's clearly distinguished as a crystal ball. And now one of Lance’s bottled up secrets is presumably also out. Nothing more to argue about, then. With the roaring flames extinguished, all they have to set their goal on from this point forth, is to win the duo comp. No more little detours to ruin their lives. No more surprises. Just. No more. 

Please.

Dangling like a loose vine, is Keith’s hand. It’s naked. He would look good with gloves Lance perceives as he studies the swing of his friend’s naked hand while they walk down the closed shopping street, more couples walking past them. 

“Well, if you ever want to vent or let off some steam-” Keith suddenly cuts in, raising his face to look into Lance’s blue eyes. 

His inky black hair looks dishevelled after his heart-stirring, feet pounding dance-off against a champion; the tips coiled into bouncing curls probably from how drenched in sweat he was earlier, his thick bangs covering one of his eyes hiding that indigo sheen he loves peering into; his grin revealing two-  _ two _ , pokeable dimples, one on each side of his cheeks, and his nostrils flaring all sweetly. 

Lance’s heart keeps running that marathon. He stops, as does Keith. He still smells fondly of cheesecake, probably tastes like cheesecake Lance thinks licking his lips discreetly as he blindly grabs at one of Keith’s long, coiled curls wrapping it around his finger, smiling all secretly. “They’re the same thing, Keith..” He sniggers into the ground.

“Whatever, I’m not good with expressions.” Keith snags the tendril around Lance’s finger when he shifts abruptly to the side looking a little tinted, then says, “But, you get where I’m going with the venting?” 

Lance tips a corner of his lip up, eyes still looking down at the pavement. “I do. Thanks.” 

“And you didn’t lie to me. You held back some info that you probs didn’t feel was the right time to tell me. Just like with-” He raises one of his black brows to imply his coming out, a corner of his own red lips, the one Lance had a briefly nice encounter with, mirroring him. 

The oncoming spring wind rustles through them. A sign to keep on going, so they keep on walking reaching the station. People, mostly locals, wearing suits or school uniforms, walk past them like passing blurs, making no note to Keith or Lance. 

_ Beep! Beep!  _ Now waiting for their train to arrive, the meet up of train goers is slim. Lined up to their left and right are no more than ten people max, it’s gotten late. Adam and Shiro must have gotten it out of their systems by now. 

“Right. So, no more secrets?” Keith asks, but his voice shutters a bit when the words roll off his tongue. He’s staring at the empty train tracks, chewing on his bottom lip, like he’s still suppressing something important that should be out in the open. 

_ Secrets. _

But Lance is suppressing something, too. 

Lance gives a stern nod. “No more secrets. Let’s rather focus all of our energy on our routines till the banquet rolls around.” 

That brings Keith to look at him. Right, so they’ll keep all their tension locked into the rhythm of dance hoping it can loosen it up, give them the flow that they need. Keep away the upcoming onslaught of what they’re still hiding from each other until after the comp- Or maybe to never see the light of day, that’d be better, no? 

Now that they have two songs checked off, all that led to was, “Shit...we still need a final song.” Lance punches out, catching Keith wincing by the sudden gust of wind slapping his face. 

That final song needs to be  _ the bomb _ . It needs to be something completely different than anything anyone has ever seen been danced before. It has to be something no one has ever thought about. Creative. Fun. Something that reminds them of... _ them _ . 

What their dancing reflects. 

Finally, whooshing past them, their train proclaims its arrival. “It’ll come to us…” He hears Keith say with such a sureness when they step into the train, “soon, it’ll strike us like lightning in all the colors of the rainbow.” Keith flashes Lance with an indigo wink, his hair airborne for a tick then settling along the shape of his shoulders once the doors behind them slide close. 


	26. Chapter 26

“Honestly, Lance, don’t take too long in there, you know Adam’s gonna bust your nuts if we’re late.” Keith bonks a fist on the bathroom door, being returned with a loud, casual,  _ ‘yeah yeah’ _ , muttered from the other side. 

Shrek is back to finding the latch and making his way into Keith’s soul again with that hypnotizing stare. Jeeze, it’s not his fault a month sped by as fast as a Shinkansen train. Not his fault they promised not to tell eachother anymore secrets, when in reality, he’s been holding back the most important secret of all. And it’s most certainly not his fucking fault that Lance has been lying straight up in his face all throughout this month, too. 

What does he choose to care? 

Ironically, they’ve both been holding on to a secret together. Because it’s cool and all that they’ve found two awesome songs to dance to for the comp, and that they gain Adam’s approving small smile when they dance the two routines in pristine condition, with no faults, nothing to complain about, yeah, it feels good. What doesn’t feel good, though, is lying straight up to his face, telling him that they have a third routine already planned and that they want to keep it  _ secret _ for Adam, make it a surprise on the day they dance it. 

They don’t have a third routine. Hell, they still don’t even have a song yet. It’s been a whole freaking month! Should have thought finding a song for their finale dance would have been as easy as choosing a song to dance to on the arcade machines, but alas- 

Keith keeps a straight face when he notices Lance striding out of the bathroom, hair curled up in a lavender towel hat like how girls can magically do, something that Keith still can’t understand how they’re able to just whip their hair up in a towel, and it magically stays raised like that. 

“Bathroom’s ready if need-” Lance starts, but his eyes falter down to Keith’s fingers.

As detected, his fingers are on their way to button up the rest of his crisp white shirt, and about to tuck the ends in his black slacks, but catching Lance suddenly shut up and staring at him with wide eyes and planet-blown pupils has him feeling like he’s standing in the middle of the spotlight, fingers shaking as one of them is pinching a clear button and the other is shakily lugging cotton material. 

Saving himself from Keith’s judging stare, Lance smooths the long end of the tail of his towel hat, twining his lips to a forced looking smirk, walking closer as he rides those blue eyes from his naked feet, up, up, up to the part of his unbuttoned shirt.

“You look-” Lance muses, a small wobble in his speech and his cheeks dustily splattering on a faint red glow, probably hot wiring his brain to say something decent, something comprehensible. But Keith is in the same boat. 

Lance looks _ good _ \- well, he always looks good, but his whole ensemble today does something unordinary between Keith’s thighs. He wants to clamp them shut, but they’re already heated hotter than any radiator, and his heart is chilling in his throat, pumping blood to his ears to stir shit up. God, he’s probably more crimson than the blue devil standing pinned in front of him. 

Blue has always been Lance’s favorite color, mostly because the obnoxious tree knows he looks good in blue as the color always knows how to accentuate and compliment his sun-kissed complexion and enhance the deep, frivolous sheen of those blue, blue eyes. 

Reading Lance’s tone and his unhooking bouncing stare at Keith’s outfit - half-dressed outfit-, he breathes out with understanding whirring between both their lingering stares. 

“Yeah, you too,” Keith replies almost breathless, looking away to hide his flush and to hide from Lance’s flush. Don’t need any second hand embarrassment to mess their evening. 

It’s no use though. Keith can feel the heated waves surging from his best friend. 

Jesus, even the space between them is blushing. 

“You’re not finished dressed, and you complain that I need to hurry up,” Lance bristles lightly with a short laugh to break the awkward tension, sauntering closer to Keith. 

Hands land firmly on his chest as he takes completely over Keith’s mission to finish buttoning up his shirt by gently swatting Keith’s fingers away from the cotton material and poking the clear buttons through the holes for him, then one more, and one more all the way to the tippy top of his collar. With all of his might, Keith tries to keep his breathing even while he feels Lance’s fingers bump into his chest as he buttons. Reaching the collar part of his shirt, Lance stares past his dark-haired head, looking around, and asks, “Your tie?” 

“On the bed, behind me,” Keith answers robotically, like he’s on autopilot, not moving a single muscle. 

It’s weird, Keith thinks. Their bodies have been this close to each other almost every day for an entire month, dancing with each other as they practice their routines, but it’s never felt this…  _ intimate _ before. Till now, that is. Keith’s sudden coming out during their first practice still hasn’t been brought up once since that day, and Lance’s  _ little  _ interference with suggesting to _ wingman him _ at the clubs has been respectively washed away by a tidal wave. 

Because of their promise that day.

_ No more secrets.  _

That’s what they promised each other, so that’s what they agreed to uphold. Even if there are obvious secrets still floating between them, the past month has been a blur of focusing everything that’s been on their minds on dancing, and only dancing. Nothing in the likes of being gay, or asking if the other is attracted to him. 

Keith gulps unwillingly when he feels Lance bend down past him to fetch his slim black tie resting on the bed, and a small wince releases from him because even if they’re close again, this just feels completely different than dancing with him at the studio. Because this. This is the ultimate awareness. All senses heightened. 

At the studio, nothing happens to them when they’re close, dancing close up against each other, because Adam is there watching over them like an evil stepmother, making sure every move is on parr to his standards, and boy does the man have standards. He’s worse than any judge that Keith has come by before. If they don’t even make 3rd place, he’ll think the world has tipped on its axis and spiraled into a new dimension where losing is the new winning. 

“Let’s see,” Lance hums to himself, inspecting Keith’s tie. Before he swings it around Keith’s neck, he unfolds his collars all the way up so that they’re gently brushing his jawline, then swings the black, silk material over his head and places it neatly around his neck. Another soft hum leaves his throat, looking like he doesn’t know how to continue. 

Keith disturbs his friend’s thoughts, “Sup?” 

“Just thinking...” Lance keeps staring at Keith’s chest. Heat stays crackling at his cheeks, heart pumping more blood to his ears. Can Lance see how flushed he is? Feel it?

Another swallow. He’s feeling antsy,  _ just get on with it. _ Surprisingly, Lance knows that Keith can’t tie ties, but he doesn’t spit it out in the open knowing that it can cause some past hurt to spike in him. Lance has always been considerate of Keith’s feelings when it comes to a certain person bailing on him. A shy smile traces his face all on its own, mostly because he’s happy that he’s here. Right here. With Lance. Despite certain secrets that remain just that. Secrets. 

“Got it!” Cheers Lance, and he gets to it, fickling his hands with Keith’s tie, all in the zone. 

One end curls, then loops around the other end of the tie, Lance’s hands are fast, like miracle workers. In less than 20 seconds, there’s a perfectly made tie resting firmly along Keith’s chest. But his collars are still sticking up and Lance’s detection has already confirmed that  _ he _ will be the one to fold them down. 

Before he does so, Keith distinctly sees his friend make a very prominent gulp because his hands starts to graze each side of Keith’s jaw before they fall down to the tops of the collars. One by one, a crisp collar folds over the black tie all satisfyingly, but Lance’s hands are still resting along the folded pieces of material. 

Keith stays still, frozen, wondering what Lance is thinking. No use asking as Lance takes one of his hands and journeys it from Keith’s left collar, fingers gently brushing the white edges and then starts creating a warm padded trail along the junction of Keith’s immensely heated neck, lifting it upwards and starts tracing his jawline again with his immensely soft fingers, except this time, instead of being finished after a quick touch, Lance decides to take his good time tracing Keith’s skin looking utterly and desirably lost. He doesn’t utter a single word, but small ripples of shuddering breaths leave Keith’s mouth, the same with Lance. 

Is it hot in here? Because it feels like a fucking furnace. 

Time stands still. Nothing between them, behind them, around them exists. All that exists in their bubble of heat is them and only them. Lance bites his lip all of sudden, and Keith can only focus on one thing at time, like the overpowering aroma of Lance’s Lacoste perfume stinking up the entire area around them, it’s making Keith dizzy, but so is his friend’s featherlight touch along his jaw. His fingers just stay there, Lance still biting nonsensically at his bottom lip, probably wondering if it’s okay. 

Waiting for permission. 

Might as well give him an answer. “It’s okay,” Keith says in a low whisper, tipping his eyes up to greet Lance’s, and holy heavens, his eyes are shining like never before hungry for more than anything in his life. He looks jarringly starved.

Lance hasn’t even registered Keith’s words of permission. Should he just lean in? It feels like the perfect moment to finally steal that long-awaited, delicious kiss. Unlock that secret and throw it out into the open, and keep it there. Exposed.  _ Out. _ Done with it all so they can finally move on. 

It’s ridiculous, Lance is standing there touching Keith while wearing a towel hat but still looking like an eligible bachelor in marine blue slacks and a sky-blue shirt. No tie, no bow, no nothing. He likes it naked. Keith likes him naked. 

“Lance.” He tries again with a firm voice to regain Lance’s attention. 

All Lance does is hum sharply, still boring a hurricane on Keith’s mouth. 

“I said it’s okay.” 

“What is?” 

His fingers have traveled from the edge of his jaw to the faded lines of his scar. A thumb brushes faintly along the traces on his cheek. Lance’s head dances with his fingers as he studies Keith’s face, his thumb just living its own life feeling so, so good moving smoothly along his skin. Keith feels like leaning into the touch, so he does releasing a long breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

When his head angles into Lance’s pressuring thumb, he on instinct starts cupping Keith’s entire cheek. It’s like he’s brought the entire world into Lance’s palm. With that thought attached to him, to his heart, Keith blooms a sweet smile inside his friend’s palm. 

“It’s okay. I want you to. If you want…” Keith says with a shallow swallow, yearning like crazy to kiss his friend, but he needs Lance on his side first. If Lance is still confused, he’ll try to give him more time. He gave him an entire month. An entire month filled with jumpy screeches when their naked feet touched, nights filled with Lance unconsciously wrapping his arms around Keith’s body fitting him perfectly into his warm shape, but waking up almost falling on his ass because he squirms too much in sleep. Days on end where he can feel Lance’s stare burn into him. Practices that ended with Lance downing more bottles of water than any camel in the world. 

It’s obvious.  _ So _ obvious. Lance likes Keith, he knows it. But he’s not going to force his friend to confess, even if the past month has been tiring, with plenty more times than he can count on both hands times ten where Keith has had to empty himself in the shower every morning due to his friend looking like a fucking midnight snack every waking hour. 

Still, there’s something jamming his friend’s brain. Like he can’t let something go. Or  _ someone  _ go. 

And he has a hunch on who it may be.

Sure, him and Allura used to be partners, but Keith thinks there’s more being kept in the dark there that needs to be shined a little light on. Given they’re going to this banquet thing tonight, he knows they’re going to meet with her again and… James. 

Fuck, Keith totally forgot that James is going to be there, too. That can only spell trouble. 

_ No more secrets. No more secrets. No more secrets. _

  
  


“I-” Lance blinks, landing back in his room, eyes fixing on Keith now and not his mouth, or his scar. His hand though, is still cupped perfectly around Keith’s cheek and doesn’t seem to be leaving any time soon. “want to...I  _ think _ ,” he says with a hint of uncertainty, his breath all shudders, lips trembling. With want? Or with fright? 

There’s still so much unsaid between them. But words are hard. It’s hard to find the right words to say without ruining a friendship. Without ruining something that’s been built sturdily for so long. Maybe they’re broken? Broken by design? Like them finally getting that everwanting kiss is not written in the stars for them. 

Keith tries to find the right words to say. But first he tosses that ridiculous towel hat off of Lance’s head, he needs to see those beautiful rich brown locks, specially now that his hair is wet, his curly strands appear much darker making his blue eye pop even brighter. Fuck, Keith can’t keep waiting anymore, not with this undulating ache in his heart going completely staccato. He just... _ can’t _ . 

So he closes his eyes, and wait. A second passes and he feels two hands brought to his cheeks, firmly shaping them and something soft tentatively press on his lips. Opening his eyes, he finds Lance with his eyes closed, leaned in and his lips barely caressing his own. It’s hardly a kiss but it’s close enough for the time being. One step at a time. But Keith hates steps, that’s why he takes the easy route and goes for the escalators. He’s about to press his lips harder until they hear Lance’s door knob turn.

Faster than Keith has ever seen the tan boy sprint- the door opens, and Shiro’s head pops in. “Y’all set? Lance?” He stares past Keith who’s sporting a blank face, and finds Lance waving from the bathroom. 

“Yeah, give us like 5 more minutes and we’ll be ready.” 

Shiro smiles, and beams it at Keith. “You look ready, wanna join us and wait for Lance?” 

“I’ll just-” Keith relaxes his face, thumbing at the bathroom door, “wait here for Lance, if that’s okay?” 

With a firm nod and a wink, Shiro’s head disappears and the door closes again with a low click. 

The faucet stops running, Lance pouring out from the bathroom with a small towel in his hands and his hair all gelled and mussed up in a slick do now. If he didn’t reveal how cowardly he was a minute ago by almost kissing Keith, he would have charged forth and devour that mouth whole due to that do on him. Fuck, he just keeps on impressing Keith with his looks, how is it possible? 

On the floor-length mirror hanging from Lance’s door, Keith finds his reflection and does some finishing touches to his outfit, tangling his hands in his own long hair taking a red rubber band and pulling up half of his hair into a loose man-bun, then twirls around with a pose waiting for an approval by his friend. 

Picking up on Lance’s ever so constant lingering, hot glare, he takes that as an approval. Then proceeds to open the door, but is stopped by a hand on top of his, sensing a nice blooming warmth through his skin. He peers up from the knob, hearing behind him, close to the shell of his ear, warm breath fanning it, oh he smells so… manly, like musk and the ocean. 

“Listen, Keith, about what almost happened...” 

Keith sends out a half-hearted chuckle, disrupting him, “It’s okay, Lance. You’re still confused. I can…”  _ I can wait, _ is what he wants to say, but for how long? Forever? That’s a long time, and one day they’re going to leave the Earth and if he can’t have Lance for at least a small while before leaving, he doesn’t know if he can continue to wait for him then. 

It hurts enough already waiting for him. 

“I want to! I really do, at least I think I-” He groans, clearly distracted by something picking at his brain, then continues to spew gibberish, “it’s just that Lu-” 

“LANCE!” They hear Adam shout impatiently from the main entrance startling their already vulnerable hearts. 

His hand on the knob shakes away Lance’s, turning it till the door pops open, then he says so low that only the two of them can hear, “I get it, Lance. Don’t work yourself too much over it. We have a comp to focus on after all.” He sends his face to Lance, eyes closed because he can’t bare himself to look at him right now; can’t bare to gaze into those dazzling twilit eyes, not right now, maybe not for the rest of the evening. 

  
  


***

Reading the look on Keith’s expression, Lance can’t help but think if it’s their disheartened excuse of a kiss in his room that’s causing that sad, puppy-dog look, or that the banquet isn’t exactly how he had expected it to be. 

All the way on the walk to the heart of noisy Shibuya, Keith had been asking questions about where the banquet will be held, what kind of food they’ll serve, if there’ll be entertainment, an assortment of exclusive drinks to try. Lance wanted to break into a happy smile during Keith’s frantic interrogation, but the sloppy scene they left behind in his room still has his heart skipping with broken legs. 

Capturing Keith before they left looking so…  _ refined _ and amazingly handsome in his white shirt and black slacks had knocked the wind out of Lance. He didn’t know what to do with himself at the time, he was scared he’d choke on every single word he spewed at his adorable friend’s way. Taking measures into his own hands, though, winging it with the tie was enough to help him gather and sort out some of his thoughts out of that sticky spider web they’ve both been tangled in this past month. 

Lura’s been texting him every day since their little meet-up at the arcade a month ago, though. Hassling him with wanting to meet up at cafés or go clubbing, like old times. Sure, they’d been tempting because he did enjoy being in Lura’s company when they weren’t dancing. She does have a sweetness to her.. _.sometimes _ . The chick’s a menace about 90% of the time. And yeah, her lips do taste good, has a rockin’ body, and feels devastatingly awesome against his own, but his heart- 

It’s not beating hard enough for her. Not anymore. Probably hasn’t ever. 

Then there’s this sudden thing with Keith. It’s making his brain erupt whenever he thinks about it. About how much he really does want to put his lips on top of his friend’s, but then once that thought starts unfurling and reach his most vital organs, everything tends to just...circuit. Faster and faster this feeling courses through him and then it all just stops. Into total darkness. 

He can’t get rid of this dreading feeling that if he falls into temptation he might lose something dear to him; someone most precious to him, all because of his inner desires for his friend. 

What happened right before they left. He felt it again. That racing circuit start up again, but then becoming too much to take in and explode into total, absolute darkness. Cowardice? Is that what it is? Shame? There’s nothing to be ashamed of, if he likes a boy he can like a boy. But every time he gets closer to Keith, his mind spirals and the world spins and spins and spins he feels like he’s losing balance, going queasy and scared. 

There’s no use, he can’t stop this feeling. Whatever it is. But he does know one thing. He cares for Keith. Deeply. It’s just his body that’s doing odd, ominous things to him without his consent and it’s breaking his fucking heart because he wants to be with Keith so fucking bad, and he knows that Keith knows that too. But the look on Keith’s face before they left-

It smashed his heart into a million pieces. 

In front of them is where the banquet will be held, to host the contestants of the duo dance competition and welcome them two months before it starts. Coran, the director, will be there to greet them along with other judges and members of the board, and Lotor’s father...Mr. Gal’ra. He’s scary as hell, so intimidating Lance can feel his legs already shaking before they head in. 

He notices Keith’s little grimace. It kinda cute because he’s trying so hard to hold back his disappointment. “Thought it was going to be held at some kind of rich-man hotel or something?” Lance leans in with a smug look, lips strained on the side of his tan face. 

“Or something.” Keith shrugs, pointing to the restaurant in front of them, “What is this kind of place, aren’t they like popular for salary men?” 

Nodding all impressed, Keith’s done his homework, Lance responds, “Izakaya. That’s what they’re called. Tiny, cramped up restaurants where the sole purpose is to eat and drink booze until you’re falling on your ass and your words slur so much you can’t find it possible to ask for one more beer.” 

“An izakaya…?” Keith pronounces the word into a hesitant, shy question as if he’s trying to remember if he read anything upon the term in one of his traveling books. 

Taking too long, Lance grapples Keith’s black leather jacket and starts dragging him to the entrance. “No use rehashing your memory, mullet, we have a dinner to get through.” 

The sooner they finish dinner, the sooner they can go home and avoid Allura… and Lotor… and James. 

Fuck. Tonight’s going to be something. 

Strikingly, to Lance’s surprise, when they make it inside being greeted by all the important people, there are place holders around the low, wooden tables. Each table fits 6 people. When Lance searches the cramped up space for his name, he finds it scrawled in Hiragana lettering above his name spelled in Romaji lettering. Keith holds his place card up admiring his name spelled out in the Hiragana symbols. A smile breaks along his milky face and Lance feels his heart leap into a toe touch at the sight. 

“Looks like we’re sitting here…” Lance makes idle chat, gaze wandering the four corners of the restaurant and, speak of the white devil, Lura plops down on the cushion in front of Lance’s seat. 

Her perfect row of white teeth cascade into him. She looks like she’s already won the comp, wearing a tight-fitting black jumpsuit and a pink colored blazer that matches her seductive, smirking lips. “Long time no see, Lonce- Keith.” She sends a perky glare at Lance, then nods to Keith in greeting, her fuschia painted lips smiling careenly, and he nods back plopping down next to Lance tucking his feet under his thighs. 

“How are the routines going?” Her mouth twerks up to the side, trying to unnerve him with her ever so observant feisty blue-magenta eyes, but Lance doesn’t feign any fright. 

All he does is stare at his nails, flicking a look at Keith, who’s still checking out the interior of the restaurant, then back to Lura, “Oh, you know, it’s going. Going, going, going-” He waves a bored hand, then leans on his elbow, “how about you?” 

Before she can respond, another body makes way to their table. He looms, no, he towers over the three of them, his dark, dark auburn hair sticking up sideways, and his eyes, equally dark almost looking like he inherited those irises from a deer. He drags the corners of his lips into a coy smile, his English accent more prominent than the last time they met, “Well then. Look who the cat dragged in.” And falls to his ass, slapping his hand in Keith’s. “Been awhile, man! How’re doing?!” 

Well, this is weird. James is usually an ass-hat when he goes to these kinds of gatherings, but seeing Keith, his whole spirit is oddly, presumably, lifted. Suspicious. Much suspicious indeed. 

“James! Hey, man. Everything’s good. Is all good.” Keith smiles, all bright and toothy and Lance feels like punching a hole in the table. 

“It’s been like 2-3 years since we graduated? Damn, I’m sorry we never kept in touch.” James keeps making chat with Keith, ignoring that Lance even existed. 

Keith is still all teeth and smiles, and it’s irking Lance to switch places with him. “Yeah. No- don’t worry about it. I got swept up with dance work ever since we graduated so I never got in touch with anyone after we graduated.” He hedge’s, fickling with his man-bun. Lance feels the need to hold his hand, but that would draw too much attention, let alone have Lura on his tail for the rest of the night shooting him with questions he doesn’t feel the need to answer to her. 

“But wow.” James’ brown eyes light up. “It’s really good seeing you again. You know Allura?” He plants two firm, proud hands on Lura’s shoulders, and that sends bullets to Lance’s chest. The fuck this guy think he is, owning up the whole banquet, touching his past partner and talking so easy with his current? Nope. He did not like this at all. 

Alpha instincts simmering, Lance slaps the table with a hard palm to gain attention, but no one gives him their two cents when two more bodies make way to their table. Great, the more the merrier. 

Lotor, that rich-as-fuck-French-croissant with his long, sleek white hair pulled up in a high ponytail and wearing a more expensive than organs on the black market mauve colored suit has entered the building. Standing next to him all quiet, is his partner, Acxa. Her black eyes shine past Lance, a smile wavering along her fair, fair face. Despite her being Japan’s number one dancer, and hardly ever sounding out a single word, her and Lance are more than dance rivals, she’s actually dating his sister. Long story, but they go back a couple years when she danced against him in the US and she lost track of her routine being met with his loud sister, Ronnie, on the frontline..Fine, so, longer story short, they hit it off, and Ronnie’s the only one who can get her to make even a squeak. 

Even though she’s quiet and intimidates the hell out of the whole dancing world, maybe more than Lura, specially wearing a gorgeous, jaw-dropping beige colored cocktail dress, she is in reality, very kind and affectionate towards others, but now with Lotor by her side, Lance begs the differ. She’s got to be tough as rocks to withstand this prudent asshole. 

But still, that dress, should he warn Ronnie that she might be hit on hard tonight unless Lance does something? Nah, they love each other, and again, her cold, hard stare can stop hearts within any vicinity. 

“May we join you?” Lotor says all bored in his stupid, heavy French accent, but sends a fuck-boy wink and clicks his tongue at Lura. 

Lance hurdles out, murmuring, “It’s a free country…” 

“Yes...” Lotor laughs darkly, hanging on to Lance’s discomfort towards him, but the gleam in his dark-blue eyes are telling him that he’s not scared of Lance. He should be. He’s going to beat his sorry ass at the comp. “Alas the place holders are forcing us to sit here. With  _ you _ .” Lotor drawls with a certain vicious pull in his voice, aiming it directly at Lance. His expression is heinous, stark, all sharp angles and challenge resting in it. 

Definitely aimed at Lance. Lotor and Acxa find their seats, and he starts studying Keith. Come to think about it, Lotor’s never met Keith before, hell, he doesn’t even know who Keith is...he thinks. “Ah, Mr. Kogane. Finally happy to meet your acquaintance. Your solo at the Allstate Japan was certainly inspiring.” Lotor eagerly shakes Keith’s hand, a million dollar smile reflecting from the lights in the restaurant. 

Adorably, Keith grows somewhat flustered at being met with Lotor despite all the smack Lance has said behind his back to him. It’s the compliments. Keith sucks at taking compliments. Either shaking his head rapidly in denial, or waving his hands for the person complimenting him to stop with the compliments already. 

Saving the day, Lance joins in, “So…” The whole table grows quiet, waiting for Lance to say something. Shoot, he’s blanking.  _ Say something. Anything. Something cool at least. _ “How about we get this party started? Beer?” His lips slide into a squiggling line, yearning to slap himself silly for building up something just for it to come crashing down into cinder blocks.

“Oooh, I heard it was all you can eat and drink tonight. That sounds marvelous, I’ll help you order, Lonce.” Lura starts rising, but Lance throws a hand out for her to stay put. 

She cocks a perfect white brow at Lance, lips puckered in anger, but he ignores her prodding stare and glances to his left, “Keith?” 

“Oh sure.” Keith resides and rises, following Lance to the bar area. It seems like almost everyone has arrived. Shiro and Adam are sitting at the table hosting the director and the other members of the board, even Lotor's villain looking dad, seems an introduction speech will happen soon but they were told to just start ordering until then. 

Once they make it to the bar area, Lance guts out a loud sigh. “Come on, it’s not that bad. They seem nice.” Keith sniggers, reading him entirely. 

“Nice?!” Lance explodes, straining his throat not to catch anyone’s attention. Luckily, it’s loud in the restaurant, popular songs thrumming through the speakers and strong, intense aromas of assorted meats and alcohol taking over everyone’s senses. “Oh, Keith...no one at our table is nice. We’re all after one thing and one thing only.” He tries to set it all straight before Keith makes nice with any of the other competitors. Before going back down memory lane with his...past roommate. 

Does Lance think that they’ve done it? His heart lodges into his throat picturing Keith with a moaning face and James behind him. Hastily, he shakes away the awful scene. “Hey.” A hand claps his shoulder, he knows it belongs to Keith, but the scene keeps barging in on his brain, his moans growing louder, louder. Fuck, stop. 

“So...you and James, huh?” Lance throws up three fingers indicating he wants three pitchers of beer for their table, and starts reading the plastic menu on the bar. 

Keith leans an elbow on the bar, reading over Lance’s shoulder. He points a finger at a picture of a platter filled with different kinds of speared meat. His mouth waters at the sight and orders two platters of the dish. “Jealous?” He then hears Keith whisper in his ear, sending a million bolts of lighting through his veins. 

Heart still lumping in his throat, its rapid beat has sent all of his blood to his ears, his cheeks. Did he just rat himself out? Christ on a stick, it’s a simple question, but maybe the way he said it implied other interpretations. Gulping, he keeps his blue eyes drilling into the menu, “I’m- what,  _ nooo _ .” His breathing has grown heavy, like he’s trying to breath through concrete, the tips of his ears sizzling that he’s scared Keith can see the billows of smoke rising from them. 

“Lance. Can we talk about what happened in your room?” Keith comes even closer. He smells heavenly, like someone plucked a bouquet of his favorite flowers and threw them in bath salts, his heart starts hammering the more he breathes his friend in. 

His jaw clenches, teeth gritting. The menu becomes way more interesting than anything or anyone in the whole restaurant. Once his jaw slackens and the web in his brain untangles just a hair for him to say anything coherent, someone claps his hands excitedly reaching for everyone’s attention. 

Coran looks like this corny rich dude -ginger hair and all mustache-, that no one would ever have assumed he owned a whole dance society in ten different countries. Cutting to the chase, he’s loaded. Fucking bank. But he doesn’t show it off, more like, he loves to use his money on hosting dance competitions and donate his own money as winnings all to keep the spirit of dance alive for a bit longer. 

It’s endearing, yeah, and it gives dancers the motivation they need to keep their careers in action. Lance has danced in three of his competitions, but this is the first duo competition he’s held. The one he was supposed to dance in with Lura canceled, for special reasons, but that was long after he left her. 

Once they go back to their respectable seats, he finds James eyeing Lance with curious thick brows. Looking swanky in an oxblood tailored suit, paring it with a cream colored shirt, Lance can’t help but be impressed by his choice of garb. It enhances the melted chocolate color of his eyes and hair, his light-skinned complexion, and making him look more fit than Lance wants him to be. 

_ Don’t brood, don’t brood _ , he chants in his head and strays his gaze away from James’ locking stare, to which he’s most prominently sizing Lance up. What, thinking about stealing Keith? Forget about it. Daggers fly from Lance’s blue eyes, imagining their sharp tips blinding his friend’s past roommate. 

“I am honored to welcome you all to tonight’s opening banquet! Tonight, we have with us three of the four pairs who will dance in the Voltron: Legendary Defender duo dance competition.” That’s a mouthful, but Coran says it all with eccentric swagger, continuing, “Sadly, our final pairing have not arrived yet to Tokyo. They have found themselves stranded in Osaka for the time being, but, fear not!- they’re heading to us tomorrow on the Shinkansen.” 

Coran rambles on about how honored he is that this comp has been given life and how humble it was for Shiro and Adam to make an appearance tonight as well; he fires up when he reveals that a secret special guest judge will be making an appearance which has, all suspectly, Keith's attention. Then, finally, he dives deep into detail about tonight’s banquet how it’s just to get to know each other, one another, better before the competition begins and not to act like strangers once the night is over. 

Still rambling on, the man never shuts up and Lance loves him for that, paying close attention to his hilarious storytelling, something starts gliding up his pant leg. A small hitch escapes him as he peers under the table and catching Lura trying to play footsies with his shin. She’s wearing fucking 6 inch heels that can cut any bitch, her bright pink grin waiting for him when he sends an accusing glare her way. 

_ Stop it _ , he tries to send to her coying smug face through telepathy with his eyes squinting, feeling them crinkling dramatically at the corners. Not resisting, she just twirls her lips into a teasing smile, then lifts her large mug of beer and takes a slug, tonguing the corners of her lips for any frothy residue. His stare never leaves her once during her act, and he feels Keith kicking his shin all of sudden. “Fuck,” he winces, swerving his neck and furrowing his brows pleadingly at Keith. 

There are three,  _ three  _ empty large mugs resting in front of Keith.  _ No, no, no _ . Keith doesn’t drink. At least, not much. Lance knows how little tolerance the boy has when it comes to alcohol consumption. He should have held watch on his friend, but instead the English bastard and the French escargot flanking the boy has done nothing but top him off beer after frothy fucking beer. 

Flaring his nostrils, Keith doesn’t reek much of the stenchy alcohol, but the indigo in his irises are gleaming, looking surreptitiously flippant. With one eye twitching, Keith nods for James to fill him another mug of beer. He does as instructed and once the handle finds its way to Keith’s grip, he swings and arm around Lance’s shoulder, leaning in. “Don’t think I’m not on to you…” He slurs. 

Dang, he’s a little bit tipsy. Tipsy Keith is a rare sight. Luckily not a sight for sore eyes. Specially when he just looks so good and tasty in something so simple. White shirt, black slacks, belt fastened to shape his lucious hips. Lance might be confused at the moment, but if he drinks an equal amount as his friend, he could very well find himself in the bathroom with his friend's legs wrapped around his own hips. 

Lance gingerly grabs at Keith’s dripping, cold beer, trying to pull it out of his grasp, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, mullet?” 

“Mullet?! Hah, I like that.” Lotor pillages in with a guffaw, his French accent causing Lance’s ears to bleed. 

Lura shows no interest in Keith’s drunken state, slugging at her own drink. She takes a long drag, gulp after gulp until the very last drop has touched the back of her tongue. Slamming the mug down on the table with a satisfying exhale, she jeers, “I have an idea!” The mischievous twinkle in her eyes definitely says it’s not a  _ good  _ idea. 

Grunting for his mug, Keith takes the large glass of water Lance is offering and downs it in one gulp. He slams the glass down like Lura and punches out, “Whatever it is, I’m in.” 

There’s a fire roaring in Keith’s eyes, Lance can feel the searing heat fettering his whole body. Furious or not, he knows Keith wants to still talk about what happened in his room, but he also knows that Lance will deliberately avoid that conversation until he himself grasps what the fuck is going on. With Lura. With James. With himself. 

“Fine. Let’s do it…” Lance complies, accepting any challenge that Lura brings to the table. She may be a white deviled fiend, but Lance wants to prove how much of worth he is, that he can’t be controlled, that she can’t have him back no matter how deep she digs the tip of her heels against his leg. 

Acxa, James and Lotor share a three-way look, nodding their inclusion. 

With a happy, destructive smile, Lura silently claps her mocha-skinned delicate hands.

“Perfect. Everyone, follow me.” 

  
  


***

“A k-pop dance-a-thon, Lura?!” Lance crows at her suspiciously as the whole gang is standing outside a well-known club just down a few blocks from where the banquet was being held. 

Allura tips her head up with a proud smile bracing her sparkling face. She had this all planned since she heard about the banquet. It was going to be the perfect crime. Her grand master plan. 

She knew that Lance would never diss a challenge, certainly so when it involved dancing. K-pop dancing, which was one of his favorite styles of dancing. Allura made sure he’d have to say yes, and the rest of their ensemble since she wrote their names on the contest two weeks prior of the dinner. 

Doing a 360 on the ball of her metallic pink heel, she jumps on one foot, her other leg bending to her bottom all giddy. “Come on! This is going to be so much fun!!” 

“But what about Keith?” Lance shoots in. 

Keith cuts in darkly, “What about me?” 

He doesn’t seem to be as drunk as he was before they left the izakaya. Seems like he’s keeping his senses heightened around Allura, like he’s trying to read her every move. Don’t worry, she’s not planning to steal his man. Well, she’ll see, Lance did try to pull a fast one on her 2 years ago, leaving her in the middle of training for an important dance comp and dumping her ass without any fair warning on the hardwood floor. That day is still etched onto her skin like a brand mark.

No one makes a mockery of her, no one. 

So she’ll make sure Lance sees eye to eye. Be it hurting his new partner or not. She will not be made yet again into a mockery. 

“I’m totally fine. See!” Keith starts jumping up and down, his hair flying out of his man-bun and doing 360 twirls on one foot without throwing up. Fine, everyone got it, he’s not as drunk as they all assumed him to be. Whoop-dee-doo. 

She had to keep her vile thoughts swallowed while chatting with Keith during dinner. To her advantage, Keith had a whole presentation of his adorable, fluffy dog in his phone that he showed her, helping along so she couldn’t spew any mean retorts his way now becoming Lance’s partner, and without revealing a secret that clearly hasn’t made an opening yet. Interesting. 

Unmistakably, Lance had definitely been checking her out tonight. She made sure to look even more presentable than she usually does during a night on the town. Her skin-tight jumpsuit helped with bringing attention to her chest, hourglass figure and bangable back side. Not that she wanted Lance to objectify her, but she did want to be ogled at, and mission accomplished she got what she wanted. At least, for a while until Keith had to of course get up some times to order more drinks and food, or go to the restroom, and every time he rose Lance would follow him with his hungry blue gaze. It was infuriating. 

Lance cackles at Keith proving his sober state, nodding at the sign that read in English for once:  _ KPOP DANCE OFF, WINNER WINS FREE DRINKS _ FOR ONE HOUR~!

Not that they need more drinks, but Allura just wants to prove to this sad bunch who truly is the dancing champion, and that they should be shivering in their bones when comp day rolls around. She is undefeated and will remain to be. 

“Shall we go in?” Acxa, shockingly, asks with a soft voice. 

That gains Lance’s attention and he walks in step with her both of them surprisingly chattering away, Keith being held up by James. 

“Aly…” Lotor’s sexy French accent causes Allura’s toes to curl. Bloody hell, not that she was trying to win her way back with the boy who left her like tracks on the tarmac, but hoof, this man is fine. 

She purses her fuchsia painted lips at the French dancer, her eyes bouncing happily from his expensive loafers to his handsome, pristine face. Yes, she can get away fine with this man after tonight. But first she has a plan to follow and a KPOP dance off to win. 

“Lotor.” She simply says his name with flickers of lights pulsing in her irises and starts walking into the club, her heels clacking loudly on the pavement expecting Lotor to follow on her tail. He does so, very eagerly so. Her lips stay peeled all pleased. 

Inside, the gang is met with strobing lights in soft colors of pink, purple, blue, white- it’s all mesmerising and mind-boggling full of life, the club. 

James spots a free table and makes a beeline to claim it for the 6 dancers, “Alright, so how does this Kpop thingy work?” He asks once everyone is seated around the round, mirror table, sitting in a dark violet velvet booth. 

Sighing dejectedly, Allura begins to explain, since, well, she was the one who signed everyone up for shits and giggles. And because she has a plan. “It’s simple. Everyone who’s signed up just enters the dance floor, and Kpop songs will play at random for 20 second sequences. All you have to do is dance the correct dance that goes with the song. If you dance incorrectly, you will be shown off the stage. Last dancer on the stage-” 

“Wins the whole shebang.” Lance cracks into a filthy smirk, it does things to Allura’s abdomen, her swallow going tight. “I like it, Keith?” His voice changes into a challenge and Keith reads it like a no-brainer, nodding once, firmly. 

They’re taking this more seriously than she thought. Another swallow burns down her throat, she needs to win. Needs to, or else she’ll become a laughing stock. Proving her rivals that she can be beat when she wants everyone to be frightened by her dancing power. 

Lotor already has a martini wedged between his fingers, Acxa, drinking still water because she doesn’t drink, James is hosting a beer to his lips chatting with Keith. Probably reminiscing old times, is it vexing Lance perhaps? 

She slides her stare from her own drink up to Lance. He’s so tall, almost a head taller than her where he sits next to her. Looming over her wicked, intense glare, he narrows his eyes at her, fuck, he smells so masculine it’s more intoxicating than her own drink. 

“What are you scheming, Lura?” 

With a small jump, Allura bubbles out a series of fake snickers, “Oh, Lonce, please. How can you possibly think I’m up to something?” 

Because she is. But he doesn’t need to know. 

His stare stays plastered on her for a beat longer, making her feel small, smaller than she felt a few seconds ago. It’s like he’s this executioner looming over her, ready to step on her. “Oh, but I do know what you’re trying to prove.” He suddenly says low, startling her. 

With that out in the open, she flings herself out of the booth, dragging Lance with her. “We’re going to check out the dance floor, see if it’s….” She bites her lower lip, everyone staring at her, “big enough. Come, come, Lonce.” 

Her fingernails dig into Lance’s wrist, pulling him towards the dance floor. It’s being cleaned off for the participants to dance on in less than 5 minutes. “Lura, what the- fuck…" They stop at the edge of the dance floor. Lance has his arms crossed, looking fit as his forearms tighten beneath his shirt sleeves. "-what’s going on? Why are we here?!” He leans down a cinch trying to read her hard glower. 

“It’s just for fun, Lonce. Not everything has to be scheme.” 

“Says the girl who loves a good scandal. You’re so up to something. We may have been partners, but remember I dated you, too. I can read you-” 

“Whot, like how Keith can read you?” 

Lance sighs, loud, swinging his hands that were tangled in his chest-nut curly locks down to his sides. “That’s what it is…” He rolls his eyes, those blue, blue eyes, his throat bobbing like he’s suppressing a laugh. 

“Whot? Why are you laughing?” Allura hates being mocked at. Hates it. She’s contemplating on jamming her heel into Lance’s foot. 

The blinding lights flash over his tilting smirk. “You’re jealous.” 

Scoffing louder than the blearing music, looking taken aback, Allura keeps her lips shaped in an offensive O. “I am not!” 

“You are.” He sighs out all relieved, which has Allura wondering why. “Listen...I-I’m sorry.” 

The words shoot into her like a shockwave pulsating all throughout her body. “Sorry for whot?” She asks, one of her hands curl into a loose fist. 

“For leaving you on the spot like that. Dumping you without talking it out. But know this…” He comes closer that strong scent of musk encompassing her, trapping her in his captivation for a split second, “You can never, ever break me. Because I broke you first.” 

Before she can answer with her own set of harsh words, Lance makes his way to the dance floor, waving for Keith and the others to join him. With her heart speeding a million miles a second, chest heaving uncontrollably and her heels threatening to break, she takes a second to focus on her breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Once the uneasiness of her beating heart stills to normality, she squares her shoulders and flings her pink blazer into the air, revealing her strong, naked shoulders, making her way to the dance floor. 

Broke her? He hasn’t broken her. Had she been broken she’d have put dance on the shelf, locked it back in the closet, but look at her now. 

“Mina-sama~!” The DJ shouts through her microphone, welcoming the dance participants. “Yôkoso, to tonight’s dance-a-thon.” She proceeds in English when she takes in that half of the participants are foreigners. “Tonight’s theme is, KPOP dances!” The crowd circling neatly around the dance floor claps and cheers their excitement. 

The DJ explains the rules just as Allura did earlier around their table. Everyone is standing in a perfect square. Keith on her left side and Lance on his left, James on her right and Lotor and Acxa in front of her. This can be interesting. She practices K-pop dances almost daily, loves the intricacies they bring and not to mention, all the fun. 

Lance drags his head side to side, stretching out. Might be difficult dancing in slacks and a tight shirt, that gives Allura the upper hand. Not that she needs it. Her heart starts skipping with impatience waiting for the first song to play already. Keith looks impatient too, sharing a grinning look with her. 

She grins back, but falters it into a thin line as she doesn’t like Keith. Shaking her head idly, she regrets her hurtful thoughts at the poor boy, but still, the boy shouldn’t be allowed to dance with someone as good as Lance. 

The first song pops on. Instantly it’s the fast alarming sounds to  _ Burning Up _ by BTS spiking her adrenaline. As expected, there will be a confluence of BTS songs to hit them, a wave of them, but to start with this one right off the bat-

No worries, everyone’s already hankered into it. The verse swings in waking up Allura and the gang’s legs. Kicking into it, they do the well-known opening dance sequence for the anticipated, long twenty seconds; speed-walking forward while flailing their arms back and forth, then a jump, landing and punching out with their knees, left, right- bending over with their arms, circling, then looping into a cross- the first dance works into her so fast she finally registers the transition music. 

They’re given a ten second break during the transition for the judges to shovel out the losers.

12 in totalt dancing, two are cut out. That soon? The fuck, BTS songs are the  _ easy _ dances. A disgrace, really. Allura grits her teeth in irritation at the fools who thought they could win this challenge. 

The next song vaults to their attention. Lance looks overly confident, that cocky smile of his having Allura curl her nails into her palms. Once the familiar tones to  _ Chicken Noodle Soup _ ladle into their eardrums, none of them can help but smile ear to ear and do the funky, chicken dance; legs jiggling like jelly, arms at their hips resembling chicken wings that has them all go  _ flap, flap, flap _ . 

Applause ruptures the room and cute giggles showing off how much they love the awkward dance. Two more clear off the stage which has Allura gaping practically. Everyone knows  _ Chicken Noodle Soup _ ! 

_ ‘With a soda on the side’ _

Fading out, Keith and Lance share a sudden enthusiastic expression. Lance disturbs the clean lines they’ve made on the dance floor and shimmies over next to Keith. “Don’t mind me, princess.” He muses all tantalizing, getting under Allura’s skin as he waggles his brows at her then eases into position once the lyrics sing out like soft velvet,  _ ‘It’s the love shot.’ _

Her heart threatens to explode under her chest when she witnesses Lance and Keith growing close,  _ ‘Naaaa, na, na, na, nananana’.  _ Sensually, their bodies dip into a sexy sway, hands riding from their sternum, waterfalling down to their pelvic region, hips swaying ever so boisterous. Fuck, that's hot.

No one left the stage, aside from their gang, there are still two more to kick off the stage. Acxa has been killing it in that tight, short dress, Allura almost envies her flexibility in material that’s definitely in need of a stretch. 

Loud blearing horns sound off. Another hit enters the stage. Lance has pretty much taken Allura’s spot remaining steadfast next to Keith. Her cheeks heat up, blasting warmth, mostly from the dance sequences, not of jealousy. She doesn’t care for him that way anymore. She was done with him before he even decided to leave her. Still, seeing him and Keith look at each other like that… she wants that, too. 

Swiveling to face Allura,  _ ‘Let’s kill this love!’,  _ Lotor mouths the words as he swings a razor-sharp arm beyond his perfect ponytail, flashing a midnight blue wink her way with a smooth salute to his brow. 

Aching and aching, she can’t take it anymore. But she can’t let the other beat her. Her own version of a dangerous smile cuts into him, continuing the extremely popular dance to BLACKPINK. 

Their stares stay locked, she does the dip, sending her rear to the floor, legs parting drastically - thank the heavens she’s wearing a jumpsuit -, as she bounces twice on the, hopefully, clean dance floor and has Lotor completely floored that when the next transitions starts; then Lotor is being politely escorted off the floor, along with Acxa! 

Didn't want to reveal what's under her dress, ey? Good girl. 

With a cute wiggle of her fingertips, thinking bon voyage, James skips closer to Allura, as does the dynamic duo. Her brows make a crease, but then she recognizes the song. The uplifting beat to Boys with Luv sends her heart into overdrive. She permits the boys to gain in on her, doing the walking train, one head ducking down after the other till it reaches James. 

Oddly enough, the four of them are the last ones standing. Shaking and kicking their feet and arms all fisted furiously, too swept up into the music, she can’t contain her smile her cheeks are hurting. Tonight turned out to be an amazing idea. Seeing Lance laugh and beam so much, she’s finding it atrociously hard to contain her emotions. 

James is the next to be escorted off the stage, with a surprised frown, but he didn’t do the correct set of arms shaking and legs kicking. Yeah, they’re that strict, and they need a winner. Another easy one. Allura’s too into it, she twirls so that she’s sandwiched between the two boys. All three of them send their hands out, bending them at the wrists and start swaying their hips to the beats of MOMOLAND's  _ Bboom Bboom. _ One hand swings to their cheek, resting for a tick then snake up above their head, hips still moving in tandem to the music. 

But then, it doesn’t stop at the 20 second time limit, the same song remains playing as it transitions into the short hip-hop section of the song. Fuck! Shit, no, no! She, for the love of her, doesn’t remember that part.  _ Fuuuck.  _ Her left and right seem to get it perfectly, all in sync and looking swab as they roll their hips and rock their bodies doing the complex hand play without tension. 

Shockingly, and to everyone else's shocking states, she is escorted off the stage, a small Japanese woman gently caressing a hand between her shoulder blades and guiding her to get the fuck off it.. Her eyes widen in utter and complete shock, snatching Lance bullet an ocean blue wink at her. 

_ You can never, ever break me. Because I broke you.  _

If she had a pentagram, she’d summon a demon to drag him to hell. Where the heathen belongs. 

Lance smirks at her, that tormenting shit-eating grin, eating up her blazing glare. Might as well see how the competition works together, seeing as they’re the final two to dance off. This can be interesting. Specially since she’s been scenting some thick tension between the two boys all night. 

Tension aside, it takes them almost three more songs before one of them reveals a slither of faltering. They’ve danced through  _ Feel Special  _ by TWICE,  _ Dope _ by BTS which was clearly present on Keith’s shining face, this dance had been tailored for him; he even looked like he was part of the music video given his mirrored outfit. 

Final song, the one that reveals their winner.  _ Kick it _ by NCT revs in; it’s fast, wild, untamed, and perfectly choreographed for one of the two boys left dancing. It craves for robotic yet smooth movements. Popping and locking at all the right moments, being edgy and scary- bold with their jumps and punches. 

Keith has it all; he owns it and proves to be absolutely terrifying. He ends the dance challenge with a high-kick hopping and taking off- flying into an airborne 360 karate-chopping kick before he lands perfectly on his feet, not even a breath of a stutter leaving him.

_ Monster _ .

Just before the harmonic melody of  _ Black Swan _ begins to transition for the next dance, Lance is all breathless succumbing to the floor, laying flat out on his back resembling a starfish. 

“WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER. YATTA DES NE~ we have a winner!” The DJ storms from her turntable, grabbing Keith’s arm and waving it up into the air soaking in the club’s applause. 

Regret washes over Allura even thinking Keith wasn’t good enough to dance with Lance. Her eyes flick with dread welling inside her as she catches Lance’s stare in a lock. Sustaining a revealing gulp, all Lance does in return is grin. 

And within seconds, the dance floor becomes fuller than a rock concert. “Drinks on me, everyone.” Keith cheers, and Lotor and James flee to the bar pointing fingers at Keith that they know him and to ring up their orders. 

“Congrats… not too shabby.” Allura praises the dark-haired boy, and surprisingly, even to herself, she means it. 

Keith is all smiles. “Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.” 

“Really?” Allura draws her head back a hair, arching a brow. 

He nods, gulping a large glass of water. Probably straying away from the alcohol. Too bad, she wanted to see him wobble- tremble before her. “Acxa had to leave, I was supposed to say thank you for a good time and wish you good luck in the comp.” Lance barges into the conversation, thumbing in the direction where Axca left. 

Suddenly, regardless of the loud music and the sea of bodies dancing, everything becomes still. Eerily still. Ocean blue eyes peer to the dance floor. Indigo eyes observing the bar area.  _ Well then.  _ With the air this fucking thick, something must have happened between them. That means she still has a shot at breaking Lance. He thinks he’s already broken her, well guess again. 

In the heat of the moment, Allura lashes at Lance with batting, long eyelashes. This song. She needs to dance.  _ 'Roses' _ . It’s a popular hit, TikTok famous, and enough to drag Lance with her to the dance floor, at least for one last time. 

“Come. Dance with me.” She pilfers Lance’s wrist, asking with her eyes. “For old times sake?” Putting on her best smile, keeping up with the batting of eyelashes, she knows she has him. 

Lance sends an asking look at Keith. He shrugs in response, his smile tugging halfway, a small dimple showing. 

Quickly, before Lance falls for that dimple. But something tells her he already has. “Brillant. Come!” She pulls him with so much force towards the dance floor, but the next song is already playing. 

_ Don’t call me up _ by Mabel stomps in, embodying both her and Lance..Once they reach the heart of the dance floor, she turns on her heel so she’s back to front with Lance, slapping into his hard torso, like how they used to dance at the clubs two years ago. The lyrics hammer into her. 

_ ‘Don’t call me up _ _   
_ _ I’m going out tonight _ _   
_ _ Feeling good now that you’re outta my life _ _   
_ _ Don’t wanna talk about us _ _   
_ __ Gotta leave it behind’

Sweat trickles down her temple. Lance is sweating too, sweat beads beading along his brow _.  _ “Is this what you wanted?” He snags her waist, bringing her in, the shell of ear touching his warm, soft mouth. “Do you want  _ us _ again, is that it?” His low, low voice glides into her through the pumping music; touching her heart, writhing her thighs. 

He's catastrophic.

Fast as a bullet, he swings her to face him, holding her still as his fingers dig into her naked arms. The people around them look like waves crashing as their bodies sway to the rhythm of the music. Her vision blurs under the hot lights, going dizzy as Lance’s sweat mixes with his nauseating perfume. 

“Well, Lura? What are you playing at?” He asks stern, mouth slightly parted, a little bit wet.

And tempting. 

“I-” Her mouth goes animatedly, she doesn’t know what she’s up to. All she wants is to break Lance.

Flashing lights strobe around them, on them, in flickering colors of bright pink, purple and blue- she's dizzy enough, no need to be blinded by the lights when Lance’s bright face blinds her enough. “miss you, Lonce.” Then she brings her hands to wrap around his neck, his sweat slicked neck, and pulls him to her lips. 

Not even second goes by before she’s harshly pushed away. With the flickering rainbow lights, Lance looks like a Latino angel, one she remembered she bossed around too much, said his dancing wasn’t enough, that he’d never be enough, for anyone, not even herself. And yet. 

“Lonce, I’m-” 

“Hey! I need to steal Lance from here. It’s really urgent.” Keith interrupts, his eyes darting from Lance’s flaring nostrils to Allura’s apologetic stare. 

Did he see them kiss? 

“Yeah! Sure, go. I’ll see you when I see you.” Allura waves them off, her heart barely beating, stomach pooling uncomfortably. 

Disappearing into the sea of bodies, Lance shines one last glare at her and she doesn’t know how to interpret it. But it’s anything but forgiving.

The world around her darkens. Slowly. Awfully. She feels like she’s being sucked into a black hole.  _ I broke you. I broke you. I broke you.  _ Something warm touches the back of her hand. A simple brush, a blind stroke but it sends streaks of electricity through her veins. 

“A dance,  _ mademoiselle _ ?” Lotor smiles, taking the back of her hand and bringing it up to his lips. Those midnight blue eyes shine beyond her hand and surge into her. 

_ I broke you. _

Guess again.

Her lips curl.


	27. Chapter 27

Keith hates - hate, with a capital H - drinking. 

Alcohol did things to him. Seamless things, like allow a certain ignorant, amazingly skilled Cubano dance with a certain number one dancer in the whole freaking world who is also given the poshest of posh British names Allura. 

And they were dancing so close too, it was hard to make out any of their faces with the annoying amount of bodies dancing their asses off around them. It was like being thrown a handful of sand to the face once you rise up from the ocean’s surface. Blinding. Stinging. Annoying as f-u-c-k.

He did sober up during the end of the evening, his senses coming back to him. Although he was hoping for some liquid courage to help him step into some big boy shoes, but alas, all he felt was shot in the dark with unhinging tendencies of wanting to set fire to long, long, soft white hair. 

It’s not like he was heavily sloshing with jealousy in his brain, but it did hurt. Seeing the two of them dance that close like that. Her lithe, strong body press up against his friend’s like it was no second thought, like they’d done it millions of times before; his hands pressed on her hips, her delicate hands riding along his jaw causing the people around them to assume they were a pair. 

To be frank, jealousy had pricked him painfully through a few spiking drinks earlier that evening so therefore he felt the need to drown himself in water for the rest of the evening after their enjoyable, in-your-face-because-he-won, dance-a-thon. 

The look on Allura’s face was as satisfying as cutting through playdough with a plastic knife. God, he wanted that face framed and put up on Lance’s wall instead of that stupid poster he has of her tacked next to Shrek. 

Too many weird things had happened that night, that looking back on them had Keith’s head spinning in an endless route of vicious circles. Like their kiss. Almost kiss. They  _ almost  _ kissed. No one would call that a kiss, their lips barely touched. 

Still, he did feel Lance’s lips ghostly touch his and that should be enough to know that he feels the same way. 

Then why haven’t they been able to talk about it for the past two weeks?!

Not only that, Keith still hasn’t gathered enough courage to call out seeing Lance kiss Allura. Albeit, he’s sure she was the one who dragged his face to her lips. Why, though? To further the intimidation? To prove to Keith that Lance still belonged to her? That she couldn’t ever be beaten? What was the reason?! 

His blood is shooting red hot like firecrackers now thinking about it still. 

“What’s igniting your fire, mullet?” Lance had turned the music down, sliding his lips cautiously along the side of his golden face. 

Keith’s worried him again. Dang, these past two weeks have been brutal. Both with his dancing and with his faint heart. There’s just been too much to tackle lately. And too many secrets. 

Withholding this secret has been eating him up inside. He swears there are moths halfheartedly fluttering about trying to find fresh meat to chomp into. The butterflies, they’re still there, specially whenever Lance’s stupid, dorky grin appears and causes Keith’s feet during a routine to trip over jaggedly, atrociously. 

Keith purses his lips to the side. “Nothing. Nothing’s igniting anything. Let’s just keep going.” 

The music amps up, echoing every corner of the room. Instantly, Keith’s feet resurrect to the familiar beats of their final song. Finally, they have a final routine in the works. As stated, it’s been a rough and heavy past two weeks after the banquet. 

A revelation jubilated that night Keith was minding his own business too busy though paying attention to Lance merging his body with Allura’s to focus on Lotor and James sharing details about the comp. While he sent flames from hell through his irises to their rolling bodies, a song had popped on in the club, roaring and gaining Keith’s attention diverting it from the pair to the lights. The strobing lights. The strobing rainbow flickering lights. 

That was when it hit him. Hard as fuck in the face. Like someone took their whole collection of hammers and spat out one after the other at him as if they were in a batting cage. It just came to him; the routine, the props they could use, how it could all go down. Go down in dancing history. 

Lance loved it. His face was glorious when Keith stole him from the dancefloor that night to tell him about his sudden epiphany. The kiss was dissipated in that moment, left to the curb to be picked up again later. This had been too important, and running it by Lance was a success. 

Still. “Fucking get it right!” Keith complains, trudging with heavy socked feet to Lance’s cellphone. 

He pauses the song. “There’s less than a month until the comp. If we want to win, we should be further than this.”

“We  _ are _ further, mullet.” Lance shoots a pointed hand at the mirror, their reflections staring back at them; Keith’s a stare of discouragement and Lance just done. So done. 

Keith huffs, “We’re not. We need to be perfectly in sync when we jump on the first beat.”

He restarts the song. Three soft beats, then three more following. Once the snapping begins, and her voice lights up a path to dance, Keith gets into it. He’s first to dance, popping with his chest, feet bolted. These movements are embedded in him by now, he loves doing these kinds of moves, like it’s second nature. Lance stays completely still, but Keith can feel his eyes following his moves, following how his body moves and it sends tendrils of shivers all over his skin. 

The chorus pumps in. It’s vital they get this right. Keith breathes in a long precious breath, his chest rising as he keeps popping; in and out, hands and fingers waving fluidly like they’re not even part of his body. Once the beat drops heavy and low, Lance has danced to Keith’s side. They share a look, blue sliding over indigo, creating hues of dark purple. Their feet hop and plant right on the chorus’s drop, they work into their routine and Keith can feel his lips spreading upwards on their own. Everything starts gliding perfectly into place all of sudden, he doesn’t know how they haven’t been able to maintain this earlier. 

“Shit.” Keith breathes once the song ends. Lance is panting right next to him, hunched over his knees. “That was-” 

“Perfect? Great, then let’s have a break.” Lance says through desperate intakes of breath.

Guess they were in need of a long needed break. They had been working their asses off these past two weeks to feel remotely close to finishing their routines and be up to par with the other pairs. 

But perfect wasn’t perfect until Keith said so. “I don’t know-”

“Keith!” Lance almost screams his name hoarse, hands firmly planted on his thighs. He looks parched, the blue in his eyes screaming along with his voice. “We are in desperate need of a break.” 

“You know who wasn’t on a break?” Keith starts but closes his mouth when Lance gurgles out a loud, deep groan. 

He’s defeated, repenting to the floor, again, looking like a starfish as if it was his favorite position to lie in. In bed too. He takes up all the space. “Not again with the Friends reference… ‘We were on a break!’” Lance yells out trying to imitate Ross from the show, laughing all adorably on the floor, water bottle in his left hand, trying to open the cork with his teeth and not spill water all over his face when he takes a long slug. 

Lips creeping into a happy grin, Keith grows into the floor with his butt, spreading his legs out long to connect his foot with Lance’s. Their feet press against each other, dancing when a new song pops on from the speakers. 

“Was that what you wanted to hear?” Lance asks while his teeth bite dents into the water bottle’s black cork. His teeth shine white when he smiles at him, looking like such a big dork. 

Cheeks flaming red hot, butterflies coming to life, Keith removes the foot he had planted to Lance’s, kicking to stand on his knees, kneeing himself closer to Lance’s lax body. “Well, was it?” Lance presses again, voice muffled by the water bottle in his mouth. 

“Yes!” Keith decides to glomp his friend's lazy ass body, landing heavily on top of Lance's chest earning that wanted loud _ oof _ ripping out from the back of his long slender neck. 

Yelping and pleading for Keith to roll off, he doesn’t give. All he can feel his Lance’s hands press into his arms, then sending them down to his ribs, poking the bones with his fingertips and shit, Keith hadn’t thought that far through. 

He begins to cackle, fighting with Lance’s poking hands to stop killing him with his tickle torture methods. “I yield! I fucking yield, Lance!” Keith screams through a torturous giggle, voice breathless. 

“Are you sure? I’ll keep poking you if we have to dance one more time. I’m tired. Beaten to the core with your strict demands.” Lance has stopped poking him, but his fingers are still resting on Keith’s ribcage, feeling him up as they glide smoothly side to side. 

Fire finally roars from the ignition inside of him when he comes into full awaremeant that he’s laying on top of Lance, his back to Lance's front, and his hand his feeling him up like they’re boyfriends. 

But what about that kiss with Allura? 

Keith rolls off quickly, jumping to his feet. “I have an idea.”

“Oh?” Lance drags himself up to his feet, unplugging his phone from the aux cord and gathering their bags. “Does it involve having fun for once?” 

“Yes.” Keith deadpans, giving him the stink-eye as if Lance just accused him that he doesn’t know what having fun entails. “I know how to have fun, Lance.” 

“Usually it involves something educational, and that’s not fun, mullet.” Lance shoots back.

At that, Keith scoffs, hand to heart like he’s been shot with a gun filled with bullets to call him out. He knows how to have fun. 

Sighing, Keith droops his eyelids close, then send them up slowly while he breathes out his sigh. “I know how to have fun. I promise we’ll have a good time.” 

“You better.” Lance gives him his bag, shoulder his own and skips with bouncing feet to the door. “Cause last time you said we were going to have fun, I almost clawed my eyes out.” He opens the door, leaving for Keith to close it. 

“I know how to have fun.” Keith mutters under his breath once Lance is out of sight, grimacing when he thinks back to that one time he dragged Lance to a rock - yes, a rock as in stones found on the ground - museum when they were 14 and understands now why Lance is doubting him. 

  
  


***

“You gotta be shittin’ me... Another museum, mullet?!” Lance has a distressed hand tugging in his curly bangs, sighing out helplessly as his gaze locks onto the sign, other hand planted firmly - his signature trademark - to his hip. 

Keith sends a corner of his lip to the side, walking past him. He claps a hand on Lance’s shoulder. He looks good. They went home after morning practice, showered and dressed into something casual; more dressy casual because Keith had had this excursion planned for a while. 

Always looking good in blue, Lance is wearing light-blue jeans, a white t-shirt and a navy blue windbreaker. His sneakers are crisp, brand new and shocking white. Keith on the other hand, went completely opposite. He wedged into his tight black skinny jeans, a black band t-shirt and shrugged on his favorite leather jacket. 

“Not just any museum, idiot.” Keith showcases the building in front of them, slapping on his brightest grin. “The Cup Noodle museum.” He muses happily. 

Lance sighs out again. Yes, it’s half-heartedly. “Still a museum,” he murmurs under his breath; as if Keith couldn’t hear him. 

“Come on! They have a cup noodle workshop where we get to design our own cup noodle packages and choose our own toppings. You love food!” That had to seem convincing enough, the dorkus loves food more than anyone he knew of. 

That switches on a light on his already radiated self. Lance beams, literally. “Why didn’t you start with that?!” 

“Because I wanted you down in the dumps before cheering you up.” Keith winks. 

They start walking into the museum. It’s located in Yokohama, this harbour district located further south of Tokyo, and Keith has more plans after the museum because Yokohama is a district he’s had noted high on his list of places to visit in Japan. 

Walking in they are met with a short line of people buying tickets. “I got this,” Lance says all proud, finding his wallet and fishing  ¥ 1000 out of his anime-themed wallet and paying the nice lady behind the counter.

“Well, aren’t you generous, spending a whole $4 dollars on me,” Keith playfully mocks, bumping a fist on Lance’s shoulder. “Keep the change, tiger.” 

Rolling his eyes back all mockingly, Lance slides his wallet into his back pocket as he rips the tickets in two, handing one to Keith. “Shut it. Just let me have this one,” he says, walking towards the entrance while sliding off his jacket. 

A lady waits for them to hand her their tickets, admitting them in. She shines a bright, welcoming smile and points to the large atrium looking stairs for them to make their way up. Before they make their way up the stairs, she hands them both a map of the small museum and reminds them which time-slot they must meet for the workshop and that it is located on the third floor as the rest of the museum is on the second. 

With a small tipping nod and twin bright smiles back at the nice lady, they make their way to the second floor. It’s not much, but it’s quaint and cute. They are first led to follow a mazed made path, sort a like being in IKEA and learn about the development of the Cup Noodle industry. 

Lance tries to look genuinely interested, but his expression is telling Keith otherwise. He’s sulking practically when they reach a wall with a timeline that’s written in Japanese kanji, a symbolized language none of them know how to read. 

Still sulking, Keith sneaks up behind the tan boy. Breathing him in. He smells ultimately good, like spicy cinnamon and that Lacoste perfume he’s always wearing; the strong aromas buzz Keith’s sinuses. “If it’s boring we can leave,” he says behind Lance’s back.

His eyes are boring into the kanji-inscripted wall. “It’s interesting,” Lance states matter of fact, but his voice is laced with lies. 

Keith giggles, still lurking behind him, reading over his shoulder, though there is nothing to read so he’s just taking in the complicated made symbols thinking about how dumb it must have been to bring him here. Maybe they should have gone to a club later tonight? Dance together, body on body, sweat mingling, breaths grinding under the lights. Yet, alas, Keith brings him to the Cup Noodle museum.  _ Good going, Keith, great ploy at a first date. _

Not that he stated it was a date, but he likes to believe that this is a date. A secret date, maybe? Again with the secrets. This needs to stop. 

A small, shy smile finds ease on his lips nonetheless still shadowing Lance’s back. “You better be thinking about me." He hears Lance say. 

His face is craned to meet Keith’s, catching all of him shading red. “I-I…” Keith becomes a stuttering mess, he didn’t think Lance would turn to look at him.  _ Dammit.  _

A snicker coaxes from the tan boy, he releases his bolted eyes from the wall and starts walking - speedily, mind you - through the rest of the maze. Finally, they are met with the next, and final exhibition (yes, there’s only two exhibitions). Checking his watch, they still have around fifteen minutes until the workshop, enough time to roam the spacious squared room. 

Inside the room, three of the walls are displays, windowed with what seems to be hundreds of different types of Cup Noodles. Varieties dating from the beginning to today’s date. It’s like a cacophony of colors painting the windows and the room itself. 

Kickstarting Keith’s heart, is Lance’s amazed face. He studies the room with wide, bright eyes, the colors of the massive display of different Cup Noodles reflecting back into him. 

“We gotta start from the left, come  _ on _ .” Lance pilfers for Keith’s wrist, dragging him to the start of the timeline of Cup Noodle history. 

It seems the first packaging for Cup Noodles was introduced in 1971, not that Keith cares. All he’s caring about right now, in this instant, is how Lance’s hand has slid from his wrist down to lacing their fingers, holding his hand. 

_ Don’t die. Don’t die. Don’t die. _

Lance’s hand tightens their hold as he pulls him to see and point at all of the different packagings, but all Keith can feel is how his fingers are short circuiting, sparks zapping. 

“This is so cool. I like this one. Oh! This one’s my favorite flavour, mullet!” Lance exclaims, but his finger drops from the window display. 

“Hey… Keith? You alive.” He feels his fingers start rubbing gently on the back of his hand while their fingers remain laced. This isn’t helping out with the question. Is he alive? 

_ Is _ he?

Their fingers are still laced, Lance’s soothing fingers clearly alarmed at Keith’s sudden stillness. All he feels now is his palm is growing sweaty, scared Lance can feel the slip and slide that’s happening. Damp with nervous sweat, Keith gives with his hand, jerking it, asking silently to have it back. Lance relents, releasing their weave. 

“The workshop, it starts in 5, we should move,” Keith informs, staring intensely at the digital numbers glowing from his watch and diverting from looking into a portrait of vivid blue. 

He kept his voice unreadable. Everything right now feels unreadable, he has no idea what to think. What to say. What to do. 

“Sure. Let’s go,” Lance mutters, walking in front of Keith.

The workshop is pretty simple. Buy an empty styrofoam cartridge from a vending machine in the line, then find a table and start decorating said bought cartridge. Keith took the obligation this time to purchase their cartridges, handing Lance his. Lance took it with a weak hand sending him an equally weak smile. Did he do something to him? 

Sitting at their table, Keith becomes a little too invested in his decorating. He likes to draw, though he isn’t exactly an artist, but he finds solitude in drawing from time to time. Red markings bleed into the whites of his cup noodle cartridge, then he finds a yellow marker coloring eyes and- surprise washes over him when he sees Lance has been copying him. 

“Lance… you stole my design,” Keith accuses with light spirit through a low chuckle. 

His cartridge is colored blue, though. “A lion? You know I’m drawing a lion, too!” 

“I didn’t know,” Lance says strict, a little glum, going back to his drawing  _ and  _ ignoring Keith. 

Fine, ignore him. See if he cares. Keith goes back to drawing intensely on his cartridge till it’s filled almost all around its cylindrical shape with a robotic lion taking up all the white space, then coloring the font in green, yellow, blue, purple and red. “Like it?” he asks Lance, showing him his finished product. 

A smile finally peaks through, though it’s very small, but he can see it. Barely. “I do. How ‘bout mine? Like  _ my _ lion?” Is he implying he drew his lion first? The nerve. 

“I do actually. Think Coran would approve? It’s like the lions in Voltron. I even colored the letters with the same colors of the robot man.” Keith smiles brightly, getting up to walk to the final station of the workshop: filling up the cartridge with noodles. 

Lance rises, towering a few inches over Keith, walking into step with him to the final station. They hand their masterpieces to the nice, short woman who’s behind a large window where there are several women and men working the machinery that stuffs the noodles into the cartridge and seals them. 

There’s a line of people following the process of stuffing their cartridges with dried noodles, then to the next counter where an extremely gleeful man asks them for their three choices in toppings and which flavour they want. 

Time isn’t of the essence, but there are still people next to them waiting in line to choose their flavours. Feeling pressured, Keith goes basic and chooses the original Cup Noodle flavour, choosing chicken, circle-shaped food things with a cute chicken stamped on and corn. Lance is a bit more optimal, going for curry flavoring and choosing some kind of green substance that Keith bets on his life the tan boy has no idea what is, beef and lastly, also corn. 

Once their toppings are chosen, they head to the final stop which is the sealing. Lance looks marveled, like he’s finally enjoying himself as he sees his Cup Noodle being placed on a conveyor belt slowly moving to the large machine. It swallows his cartridge whole then spits it out with plastic wrapped all over like you buy it in the stores. He stands all ready to retrieve his Cup Noodle as the machine slides it out of a bowled slot. 

“Look, mullet! My very own Cup Noodle, ala Lancey-lance.” He looks so proud it has Keith wanting to wrap his arms around his stupid head and squish him.

Instead Keith flashes him half a smile, now retrieving his own sealed Cup Noodle. “Though I have to say my masterpiece would sell more than yours.” He snickers looking down at the floor to avoid Lance casting a blazing glare. 

Never diss Lance’s masterpieces. Never. 

As they head out of the workshop, it seems that Lance’s little kerfuffle has blown away. For the moment. Keith hopes it’s a long moment. He has no idea why he was in such a gloomy mood while they decorated their cartridges, but it could, maybe, have something to do with what they’re not talking about. What they should be talking about. 

“So, what now?” Lance breaks Keith’s train of thought. 

They’ve made it to the ground floor of the museum. It’s still somewhat light out. They weren’t longer than an hour, hour and a half tops at the museum. But Keith has a few more plans for them while they’re still in Yokohama. For one, it has a beautiful harbor they can walk along in its vast park. There’s also one other stop before heading to the park. 

Keith keeps it secret for now. “I’ll show you. Come on.” And without thinking, he grabs Lance’s hand, lacing their fingers. 

On their way to their first stop after the museum, they’ve wandered past an enormous mall. Lance hints that he wants to take a stroll through it, but Keith has other plans for mall shopping another day. There’s a certain mall he read about in his tour guide that he’d much rather visit than this one. Though, it does look very tempting. Still, the other mall will be much more adventurous for the two of them.

He shakes his head no and Lance pouts, but the pout vanishes the second Keith tightens their grip on each other. His heart flutters feeling Lance’s skin against his own. Warm. Soft, but also calloused. Like a dancer’s hands. Running countless times to slide on the floor, hands and palms going rough for each time it needs to slide with their bodies, for every failed jump and landing on their ass. A dancer’s hand. Lance’s hand. Cupped perfectly with Keith’s.

As it should be.

While they walk along a bridge, a hard breeze slaps in. Keith shudders all over by the uncalled biting cold winding through him. He thought his leather jacket would be warm enough, he was wrong. 

“Dang it, mullet. You need to learn to dress properly…” He hears Lance scoff playfully at him. Then feels something wrap over his shoulders. 

In his peripheral vision, Keith spots navy blue. Lance’s jacket. “But… what about you?” Keith jostles, careening close to Lance now wearing nothing but his white t-shirt. If Keith is cold, than Lance has to be fucking freezing. 

Lance furrows his brows. “What about me?” 

“Aren’t you going to be cold?!” Keith shrieks back, ready to give Lance back his windbreaker. 

“Fuck no, I’m not a pussy like you.” Lance bristles back with a guffaw, slapping Keith’s shoulders and halting them to go further before he steps in front of Keith to wrap his windbreaker all the way around Keith’s leather jacket. He grunts for Keith to punch his arms through the sleeves, the blue in his eyes threatening something else if he doesn’t comply. 

Complying, Keith whispers a low, “Fuck you.”

“Fuck  _ you _ !” Lance bites back with an infectious cackle. 

So they both end up cackling. 

Keith shrugs Lance’s windbreaker to fit better over his leather jacket, admiring it on himself, sending a gratifying smile his friend’s way. 

“Thanks, man. ‘Preciate it.” 

The wind blows harder, but Lance’s cheeks are heated a bright flushed pink. 

“No biggie,” he says all shy with a slight shrug, pointing a finger up to their destination. Guess he knew what Keith was up to after all. Speaking of up, Lance speaks out, “Ferris wheel? Less you’re scared of heights,  _ pussay _ ,” he then taunts in a high mocking tone, one eyebrow arched, lip bitten by pearly whites. 

“Aight, to prove I aint no pussy, I’ll race you over.” 

Keith starts running towards the amusement park lying close to a small port, the locals sweeping aside to make room for Keith zooming past. 

Not far behind him, he hears Lance scream, “No fair!” Gaining speed on him. 

To prove he’s no pussy, despite wearing two layers of outerwear, Keith spurts forth.

_ Cosmo World _ , is what the amusement park is called, and it’s so cute and colorful, Keith feels like he’s 10 years old again thinking back to that time when his mother brought him to the closest amusement park when they lived in Texas. 

When they all in lived Texas. All  _ three  _ of them...

While the memory unravels, Keith waits by the ferris wheel’s line, glancing idly at his watch. He hears a skid of white kicks and a long dragged out pant. “Took you long enough.” Keith teases, bending over and catching Lance also doing some catching. 

“Lance? You alive?” Keith asks, poking a worried finger at Lance’s shoulder. 

“I-” Lance keeps panting. “Dammit, these past two weeks have done a fucking number on me, mullet. I’m so tired…” Lance rises tall, pressing his palms to his lower back and does a stretching yelp in the process. That gains a couple stares. Not that the blue boy cares. He loves attention. 

“Oh yeah? Tired?” Keith sends out a sharp breath through his nose. “You tell me what tired is when you wake up one morning thinking your coffee pot was the kettle pouring what you  _ thought _ was boiled water into your cup noodles only to stuff them in your mouth with an extra ingredient and an awful after taste of bitter coffee...” The memory still wanders his mind from time to time just to poke him in the ribs. 

Lance slants Keith an amused gaze, lips clamping hard to stifle a laugh. “That-” Yeah, he can’t hold it in, shaking uncontrollably. “That really happened?!” 

“Yes! It really did. I was working my ass off for this one comp. Danced day out and day in, from sunup to sundown, then up again. It was awful, do not recommend,” Keith grumbles, wrinkling his nose in distaste of the new memory showing itself perfectly in his head. 

“What, coffee in your instant ramen or practicing till your feet draw blood?” 

“Both. I guess.” 

Finally, the line moves. No more chit chat, Keith wants it out. Everything bottled up from that night. Being as still as mimes from the past two weeks. Their bodies close but their words bumping like the opposite polar sides of a magnet. It all needs to spill out now. Or else he’ll spill piping hot tea on himself with Lance taped to a fucking chair. 

The man manding the ferris wheels accepts their tickets, seating them inside a car. Luckily, to Keith’s luck, not Lance, it’s not one of those crappy cars that rock and threaten to throw you to your imminent death. Keith can’t stand those. 

Inside their car, Lance sits on one side, Keith on the other. Obviously, there’s room to sit next to each other, but someone, or both of them, are too cowardly to make a move. 

He detects Lance swallowing and heaving in a breath of courage. Maybe. “So..” 

“So?” Keith shoots a brow up. 

Assuming they have two rounds around the ferris wheel, Keith gives Lance a full round to surmise what is blearing like police sirens in his mind. 

_ I LIKE YOU, GOD DAMMIT, WHY CAN’T WE JUST KISS FOR REAL?  _

It’s been a whole round. Keith suppresses his disappointment. It’s his opening to say something now, but the image of Allura’s lips cradling the lips he wants to taste is barging in on every chance he feels a small plume of bravery take over. 

Instead, he extends his hand, hovering it over Lance’s knee, raising it closer to his thigh. His thick, muscly-looking, thigh. The fabric of Lance’s jeans are doing a wonderful job at throwing needles in his blood. Now he makes a swallow- his spit tastes like a wimp, a pansy- a fucking scaredy cat. 

To cut to the chase, they first need to discuss their almost kiss. Yeah. Get that out in the open first. Acknowledge that there is a mutual attraction. Agree on it together. That Lance. Even if it is clear. Well, used to be clear; that he likes girls. But maybe, definitely maybe, he might like boys, too. Or just Keith. Most preferably, he’d want Lance to just like Keith. 

“Keith… what are you thinking so hard about?” 

No mullet. This is serious. 

“Everything and nothing. The uh…” Their  _ kiss _ . “-the banquet…” His throat is so tight, it’s burning, his heart is pumping fire. “You.” He shines his eyes on Lance. His head is hanging low, burning a glare on the floor.

Lance tips his eyes up to Keith. “What about me?” he asks through a hoarse whisper. The blur in his eyes,  _ God _ , they’re pulsing like an electric current, asking with pertinence. Pleading for the correct answer. 

He’s right. His eyes are so right. This has been dragging out long enough. Might as well bite the bullet. 

Keith shrugs it off, playing it cool, looking out the window stealing a glance of the sun dipping into a darkened dreamscape. “You know… just feeling bad, taking you to another museum. I still feel bad about the rock museum when we were younger.” He tries to sound out a couple snickers, but they’re barely audible, swallowed by his anxiety. Where are those hammers?

Lance doesn’t answer. All he does is wince. It’s a loud wince, all of his features slightly moving for a split second sending shockwaves of disappointment through all of Keith’s nerve-endings. God, he’s pathetic. 

It’s just a kiss. It’s a simple confession. Part his lips, make sounds that Lance can understand is Keith saying the words _ like _ and  _ you _ in the same sentence. It’s not that hard! 

Then why the fuck haven’t either word dived off of his tongue yet? Not even that, how come neither of the words have left Lance’s tongue yet if he’s being so persistent? 

Because love sucks. That’s why. 

Keith stops breathing, eyes growing wide.

Wait.  _ Wait. _

Who said this was anything about love?

He feels his chest flourish. A kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering in every space available in his body. It feels nice, like how it feels whenever he looks at Lance. Is around Lance, and-

Oh. 

_ Oh. _

With those damn bright blue eyes pinning him in his seat, Keith huffs out roughly, heart turned into a jack-hammer and just going with it. Just doing it once and for all. 

His mouth slides open… feeling sound vibrations in his throat kick into action, but then there’s a sudden halting jolt. 

“What the?” Keith’s heart jumps out of his chest. 

Are they going to die? 

“It’s done.” Lance says plainly, opening the door. 

“Keith!” 

Keith whips his head to Lance holding the door open for them to get out. 

“The ride,” Lance repeats. “It’s over.” His tone sounds so… final, like daggers aimed at him. 

Keith’s heart falls, his insides pooling unpleasantly. 

Is something else over, too? Without it ever being started?

When is there a baseball bat to hit some sense into you when you need one? Keith bites his inner cheek hard, wishing he drew blood, but his teeth are just as much a pussy as he is. They’ve wandered to a large, green park, right by the harbor. Along the path, they have the glittering water and a scenery of a large bridge and boats rocking about close by. 

The rest of the park is filled with students in uniforms talking, couples and friend groups having an evening picnic. “Hey…” Lance gathers Keith attention. 

He looks down, his hand extended, asking for permission to hold it this time. Stomach attending a gymnastics comp, Keith reaches for Lance’s hand, only to be met with an airpod in his palm. “Put it in,” Lance says, sounding bleak. 

Keith places the airpod in his ear, furrowing his brows. What is it now he’s trying to prove? Is he aware of the fact that Keith might be in- 

Music starts playing in his ear, it’s familiar. 

_ ‘Made plans with me and all you friends _ _   
_ _ I’m late again, I hate to keep you waiting _ _   
_ _ Tried to be a gentleman, got drunk again before I even made it _ _   
_ _ Tried to call a car for you, you’re tired of me _ _   
_ _ I know you wouldn’t take it’ _

They keep on walking along the park’s path. One leg in front of the other. Hands untouched Keith grits his teeth, heart lumped at the bottom of his throat, constricting his chest with so much pain. Just take it. Listen to the lyrics, he’s trying to tell you something. Isn’t he? 

_ ‘Hold it, even though it kills you slowly _ _   
_ _ Explosions, hidden when we’re in the open _ _   
_ _ Keep on smilin’ until it’s over _ _   
_ _ Hold it, even though it kills you slowly’ _

His nostrils flare. But it hurts, keeping it in. He wants it out. Out. Out. Out. His eyes slide to Lance, he’s looking back at him. It’s quiet, except for the music in their ears. Their podless ears hear nothing but the wind rustle past them, a horn blearing from the harbor.

“Lance… I-” Keith says, but Lance shakes his head. 

Maybe he hasn’t said anything yet, because he isn’t ready. 

Keith smiles. Lance smiles back. But then Keith frowns. He’s so sick and tired of waiting. If Lance doesn’t feel the same way, he might as well just tell him. Though he could have told him these past two weeks. Fuck! Why is this is so complicated? Why did this have to happen between them? 

“It-” Lance tries to spin Keith’s mind somewhere else. “It’s my turn at something fun.” 

“As long as it ain’t a club. And you said you were tired.” 

Lance cocks a crooked grin, but he still looks sad; his eyes reveal more than he might believe. “Promise, it’s better than a club.” 

“Well tell me, I’m sick of surprises.” Honestly, if Keith is sprung with more surprises, he’ll forfeit the whole comp and go home. 

“Hah- just trust me on this. I trusted you, didn’t I?” he muses, plucking the airpod out of Keith’s ear, putting it back in the case with its partner. 

Grumbling, Keith says, “So you liked the museum after all? It wasn’t boring?” 

“I didn’t think it was boring at all. It was about food, no? You know how much I love to eat,” Lance winks. “But I’m pretty sure karaoke is a definite winner here, don’t you agree?” 

“Karaoke?!” Keith whips out a wide smile. Yes! Karaoke is awesome and actually has a loopy spot under Yokohama on his things to see and do in Japan list. “Sweet, let’s get going, it’s getting kinda late? We need to be bright and early tomorrow, I wanna get at least my top ten songs in.” 

“Top ten! Mullet, I need to get my top 20 in before you sing anything.” Lance guffaws behind him, following on his tail towards a karaoke building. 

Karaoke. Okay, Keith’ll bite, there can’t be any unwanted surprises singing some karaoke. 

Or can there?

  
  


***

“You gotta be shitting  _ me… _ ” 

“Keith!” James hollers from the paying counter, bumping a nosy, impatient hand at none other than Allura’s shoulder. “What are the chances.” He springs forth, grabbing Keith’s hand in a greeting and squeezing it tight.

Being polite goes a long way. Keith forces a smile on his lips, but they’re a little too tight. “Yeah, what are the chances…” he murmurs under his breath, craning his neck slowly to shoot incinerating flames at the tall, tan boy next to him. 

Lance lifts his hands up shrugging, not even an ounce of apology radiating off of him. Damn, the boy just loves drama a little too much, doesn’t he? “Lura, the hell are you two doing here? Stalking me?” he coos bumping an elbow in her side, her hands swatting at him to stop. 

There’s a whole battalion in Keith’s gut ready to slice open and slice through a white haired demon. 

Allura gasps, “I know, how ‘bout we rent a room for the four of us?” 

“That sounds like a given since we’re all here,” James cuts in, his brown eyes looking as pure and innocent like the day him and Keith first met at the academy. Although, he’s anything but pure… 

“Keith, Lance? You guys in?” 

“Sure we are. Aren’t we, mullet?” Lance steps up behind Keith. He can feel his shadow drown him in discomfort. 

He knows he has no other choice. His mother brought him up to be too nice. Damn. “Yeah, sure. The more the merrier.” 

The karaoke room is somewhat cramped. It’s big enough to host at least 6 people, but knowing Lance, he’s going to need a big-ass stage to make him comfortable. Guess the table will be his stage, just wait and see. Speaking of Lance, he’s already maneuvering the tablet with song choices and ordering drinks. 

No more drinks, please. 

Before renting a room, you need to order a drink for each attending person. It is mandatory, or customary, or whatever. Luckily, alcohol-free drinks were on the menu, so Keith went with some kind of melon soda drink that Lance recommended. Better taste good, because the bitter taste in Keith’s mouth is making him gag. 

Allura finds a seat next to Lance, her blinding smile one Keith wouldn’t mind grazing off with a cheese grater. Her lips on Lance’s are still visibly present in his mind and all Keith can feel is the boiling bubbles ruptering under his veins. Make it stop. Make it all stop. 

He glances curiously at her secretly under his lashes. Does she really like him? Or is she really that petty to get under Keith’s skin all to deteriorate him before the comp? Not his fault Lance wanted to partner up with him. Not his fault she was a commanding bitch. 

She ignores his stare, sliding closer to Lance and bossing him around the endless list of song choices on the glowing tablet. Keith keeps on grinding his teeth. 

“Hey..” James dulls his knives, “so we haven’t been able to catch up yet.” 

“There’s a reason for that…” Keith says with a glower. 

He’s been avoiding chatting with this boy for obvious reasons. “Come on, don’t be like that. You practically deflected all of my questions during the banquet. I had to talk to Lotor all night ‘cause Acxa’s too shy. Do you know how much of a snooze-fest that rich prick is...” His voice sounds genuinely sorrowful. 

It’s just that, with this thing with Lance, Keith doesn’t want to walk down memory lane with James. It’d wake up too many memories of the two of them during their years at the academy, years he enjoyed butt wants kept there… in the past. 

“Kogane… stop being a priss. We had a fun ride when we danced together, no?” James slides closer to Keith, his hip bumping into Keith’s. It’s warm. Taut. 

Memories pile in. “Yeah… we did,” he sounds, teeth still grinding, chest heaving for air. No more memories. No more. 

“You never hated me, did you?” James asks, he reaches for his drink once it arrives. He’s gone for a beer, the aroma of something fruity fogging up Keith's senses. 

Keith shakes his head. It’s getting too hot in here, he can’t breathe. Pinching his red rubber band, he pulls his long hair up into a ponytail, catching Lance holding a microphone close to his lips. Seems like he’s found his first song. 

“I never hated you, James… What happened, happened, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” James breathes out in relief. “So we’re good?” 

Keith keeps his eyes tipped up at the screen. “Always been.” 

“Good.” James smiles. “So… what’s the deal between you and dipshit over there?” He nods his head to Lance, who’s now standing on the table, his stage for tonight. Is he going to give them a show. 

Going speechless for a tick, Keith falls to James’ goofy expression, staring incredulously at him. “ _ Nothing’s _ going on between us,” Keith flatlines, scoffing a bit at the remark. 

The screen lights up. Since every song has a copyright license, the karaoke buildings aren’t allowed to show the music videos, and when you sing, all you hear is yourself, so pray to God or Shrek that you’re a good singer, or else be prepared to hear your own voice amped up to the max. 

Lance starts making sexy poses still standing on the table once the slicing beats of the song pivot into the room. His lips cradle the grille of the microphone, just like how his lips had slid perfectly over- 

_ ‘Your man on the road, he doin’ promo…. I’m just tryna get you out the friend zone’’ _ , the lyrics pop up on the screen and Lance has already transitioned into his Weekend persona, making his voice low and raspy; being undeniably sexy, his voice, it has Keith’s thighs throbbing hearing him sing so good. 

Lance’s knees have cemented on the table, falling down on his freehand, whipping his head in sync with the hard beats of the song, screaming into the mic, _ ‘I only call you when it’s half past five. The only time that I’ll be by your side.’ _

Melon-flavoured spit runs down Keith’s tight throat, flames licking everything inside him. Soon he’ll implode witnessing Lance slant those fluctuated sapphire eyes at him, lips smiling dangerously... only at him _ , ‘When I’m fucked up that’s the real me. When I’m fucked up, that’s the real me, yeah.’ _

That voice slithers in all smooth and easy like laying your head on a pillow and falling, falling, falling into an endless, dreamless sleep. James is wearing a smug look, like his question from earlier still applies, bouncing those deep brown eyes at Lance still living it up in his own little world as a temporary superstar. 

Allura is lost in the song as well, singing to herself, probably waiting for her turn next. “I just need to…” Keith rises once the song ends, and Lance waits for an applause, and a standing ovation. 

He sort of got that since Keith is on his feet. “You sounded awesome, I just need to…  _ go _ -” He raises his brows to indicate that he needs to relieve himself. 

Lance peels into a bright, toothy smile sending heart eyes at Keith, and, he needs to flee right this instant. 

“My turn! My turn!” Allura’s posh voice sharpens into him like a child’s high frequented scream. 

Behind him he shuts the door to the toilet, hard, breathing out rampantly. It’s too much. Lance is too much. He’s an open flirt. He saw how those eyes stared at the three of them. He could have an easy shot at all three of them if he wanted to. No way does he like Keith back. No way does he… love him. 

Friends. 

They’ll remain friends. 

It’s easier that way. 

The door gives. Keith’s back is still against it, bolting it. “Hey! Open up, it’s a public restroom, I need to go.” It’s James. 

Sighing out a long breath in relief, Keith moves, barely a step to the side as this boy’s restroom is too cramped. There are two toilets though, and a small, very petite sink. 

Obviously James didn’t need to use the restroom. “Hey… what happened in there? He was obviously checking you out,” he directs a hand to the door, indicating that show put on before Keith left like a heart-torn love interest in some kind of drama movie. 

“Keith.” James comes closer, Keith steps back, feeling the cold of the sink hit his lower back. “You and Lance… are you sure you guys aren’t a thing?” 

“Why do you keep asking that? It’s obvious we’re not. Didn’t you see them kiss at the club that night?!” Keith splutters without thinking, his eyes pricking. 

James cocks a soft brown brow. “Who kissed?” 

Don’t make him say it. He’s already seen the scene a million times in his head. “Keith. Who did you see kiss?” 

“Lance and Allura!” Keith screams through a clogged breath hoping no one heard him outside the bathroom. 

A scoff jangles out of James, “That’s so typical Allura… ‘course she wants him back. She’s like this with every ex…” 

“Ex?” Keith remarks. It all makes sense. 

“Listen, Keith. Don’t think about that kiss. Allura… she gets like this. Turns into this royal bitch. Doesn’t like it when she can’t have what her claws have caught.” 

“Then… I’m so… I don’t know what to do… at times I feel like he feels the same way, and other times.” Keith sighs out, his heart shot. “It’s so damn hard to know.” 

While he leans on the sink, James rounds the small space there is to stand in front of Keith, look him in the eyes. His eyes are slid to the door, like he’s waiting for something, Keith squints at him wondering the hell is going on in his head now. 

Then the door opens. “Keith? Are you-” 

That’s when he feels a pair of lips steal him. 

“Whoops, sorry- K-Keith?!” 

James is kissing him and all he can hear is Lance’s voice. 

  
  


Fuck.

  
  


***

“Well then, I’ll leave you two to it. H-Have an amazing life together,” Lance’s voice cracks through an oncoming sob, shutting the door with such a slamming force the moment Keith propels James off his lips. 

“What the fuck, man!” Keith screams, dragging the door open with all of his strength scared he’s gone all Hulk on it. “Lance!” 

Lance is gone. Faster than the Flash himself. Damn, he needs to run after him. 

“You’re welcome.” He hears James suddenly say behind him in a low stern voice. 

Curling his hand into a tight fist, Keith is nano-seconds away from connecting it to James’ fucking pale jawline. “Before I chase after him, tell me why the fuck you thought kissing me was a good idea. We’re not getting back together! Fucking-a, we were never a thing!” 

“I know,” James deadpans, his palm swiping his forehead. “Man oh  _ man _ , what we had was pure physical sex, Keith. We were horny teens going through a sexuality crisis. God, I haven’t thought about you in  _ years _ .” 

“Okay, then what the fuck? Lance might think we’re together now! He...” Keith’s heart has gone feral, his teeth bared, almost like they’ve sharpened into canines, his eyes glowing a monstrous yellow. He swears his scar is throbbing in pain now. 

James clicks his tongue in irritation, “Jesus fucking Christ, the both of you are so dense. I was helping you!”

“Helping me, did that look like helping?! I’m sorry man, but I’m not up for a fucking triangle drama…” 

“Listen, Keith.” James digs his fingers into Keith’s shoulders, biting into him to listen. “Chillax, please. I just tried to prove to you that Lance is over Allura, that he’s obviously into you.” His hands have risen to defend himself now. Keith then notices that his hand is white in anger, raised at James’ face. “I’m with someone. I have a finacé…” 

He lowers his fist. “You do?” 

Chuckling, James says, “Yeah… don’t sound so surprised. I met him right after we graduated. I love him…” A happy sigh breaks out, then he fixes his gaze on Keith, “You need to run after him… I can spot love from a mile away and if your legs can’t spurt a mile now, then you’re on your own. I heard footsteps out the door and assumed it was Lance, if he saw us kiss and reacted like he did now, I thought that would at least be an eyeopener to you.” 

“That he likes me?” 

“Like? Oh dear lord! Just go.” James starts pushing Keith to leave already. There’s a line of blood trickling down his lower lip, where Keith might have scratched him when he violently shoved him off his mouth. 

“Hey, I’m sorry about your-” 

“ _ Go _ !” 

He nods confidently at James, silently thanking him for prying his eyes open with a crowbar; for opening his heart - even if it was through a sleazy way like a kiss - then runs, sprints, past Allura standing leaned against their karaoke room door towards the elevator. 

  
  


Towards Lance.

  
  


***

  
  


Shivers run down his arms, raising every single hair on his body. He can feel his skin pebbling into gooseflesh. “forgot my… coat,” he says low through another forced sob.

Ever since the sun left, the air has become crisper, bitingly cold. Lance can’t feel it. The cold. All he feels is sweat dripping from his forehead, his temples, down the nape of his neck trickling down his spine after running from the karaoke building. Running from Keith and James sharing… sharing what should be him and Keith doing…

“Fuck!” he yells, kicking his white sneakers at the dirt, cradling down to his hunches. "fuck.."

In front of him is the harbor. He’s run back to the park. It’s dark, the only form of illumination the lamp posts thrumming a calm orange glow. No one in sight. Nothing but the stillness of the water, the faint rocking of the boats. 

Nothing. Like the hallowed darkness now roaming in his heartspace. 

He should have kissed Keith when he had the chance. And, damn, there were so many chances. Before the banquet, their almost kiss. He should have just kept a hand planted firmly on his door and turned Keith around and just kissed him. Whispered in his ear what he does to him, what he does to his heart. How he makes it swell tens times larger than its original form. How his feet levitate at the sight of him, either during an amazing dance routine or just messing around in their bed before playfully squabbling about what movie to watch. 

The museum, the ferris wheel, on their walk to the fucking karaoke building! He had so many missed opportunities, and now, he’s missed everything. 

Fucking Allura. He knows that Keith saw them that night. It didn’t help the case any more when Keith and James left them alone in the darkened room. 

Her voice bleeds into him. “Lonce… at the club..” She had started, and he knew instantly where she was going. 

“Stop..” he said, “Just… stop it. I’m done being played with. Being wrapped into these fucking mind tricks of yours. They don’t work on me; never have, never will. So, just, stop.” 

The look on her perfect looking face gave it all away. Her eyes fell to the table, her delicate hands shaping her drink, apology barely there to reach. “But, Lonce, I think I still-” 

“You don’t think...Lura. You just want, want, want.” He had come close to her, so close his breath warmed her skin, he could see how the air hit the long, white bang that rested on top of the crest of her cheek, caught the fright in her blue-magenta eyes. “Stay out of my head.” 

“Lonce, please. I-” She whispered pleadingly, tipping her eyes from the table up at him. They did nothing but cause a hurricane in his gut, open his own eyes, his fogged mind, to go check on Keith. 

When he released his breath on her, moving to the door, the last he said to her was, “We were never a good team. Never going to be. Keith and I…” He whispered his name, felt his name warm on his lips, “Keith…”

“I get it…” Allura finally surmised. “I just wanted to try…" She reevaluated her answer, settling with, "I’m sorry.” 

Then Lance had left, only to have his heart broken again. Have a friendship dear to him ripped to shreds. 

His teeth grits, jaw clenching to fight back the tears. Fight down the long train of sobs.

Fuck love. Fuck- 

His dropped eyes slide up, staring out along the docks. Catching the moon strobe its pearlescence shine over half the world. He can feel its reflection pour into him, its light revealing what his heart had been hiding in the dark all this time. 

_ Love. _

“Lance!” 

It’s like a ghost is shouting his name. The ghost of him from his dreams. Keith’s voice, under him, whispering his name over and over again. 

“Lance..” It’s like he’s standing right behind him. 

He takes one more look at the moon, sharing one final, silent conversation with it, then turns around. 

“You forgot your jacket… thought you might be cold,” Keith says without submission. His lips are trembling from where Lance is standing just a few meters away from him. 

The soft orange glow curtains over the dark-haired boy, he looks like an angel. A saint. But all Lance can see are the flames of hell rising up from the ground, reminding him that Keith was kissing James just a few moments ago. 

Keith walks closer to him. Lance steps back, an arm shooting in front of him and a fist curled. His face ashens, voice hoarse, “Lance, please. I didn’t kiss James, he fucking kissed me when he heard you coming to the restroom.” He’s dialed his voice done a few notches, like he’s talking to an animal he’s scared is going to run off. 

He’s not wrong… but would be nice to hear this out. 

Lance responds hotly, “How could he have known it was me who was coming into the bathroom, it was a public karaoke bar! Anyone could have walked in on you.”

A troubled sigh breaks out of his dance partner. He swings Lance’s navy windbreaker in his arms, then drops his hands down to his side, keeping his stare fixed on him. He doesn’t walk closer, aware that Lance might make a break for it. 

“All I can say in defense is that James was hoping it was you.”

Hoping? That asshole. He knew from the start that that boy was bad news. 

Both of his brows pinch hard to meet in the middle. His voice grows rough, “Why?”

“So that I could get my head outta my ass and realize that you have the same feelings that I do,” Keith says quickly through a tired sigh, taking one step forward. 

Lance stays planted on the ground. “But you dated James,” he states, and sees Keith walking two more steps at him. Two very heavy, very dragging steps. 

And his voice boils back, “That’s ludicrous. When did I say that?!” 

Wind blows between their empty space. The space isn’t that wide anymore, Keith is maybe three more steps away from being able to lay a hand on him. Not that he wants that. Er- he does, very much so, but James, that ass-pricking-hat- what the hell did he think to accomplish by kissing Keith in front of him? 

Also, did Keith ever state that they dated? 

He shakes his head viciously, hoping his intrusive thoughts rattle away. Then replies as he lowers his curled fist to his side, loosening its grip, “The day we met him...you never said it, but your look. Looked like someone who used to be in-”

Keith throws an angry finger at him, “Don’t fucking say it, we were never that close, Lance. We were never a thing. Just-”

“Just?” His heart starts pounding. Just. Just what? On the brink of falling in love?! But what does Lance know, he’s never been in love before… until now that is. 

Another long sigh claws its way out of Keith’s throat. It’s obvious that this has become a touchy subject for him. Going back to the days that his anxiety was at his worst. Lance can read it all over his tensed state. His thick black brows pinching harder than his own, eyes glossed with regret, teeth raking his bottom lip about to draw blood. 

“Keith… you need to tell me,” Lance implores. It’s the only way he might get a grasp on this whole stupid, fucking ordeal. 

First, Keith throws his windbreaker at him. Lance catches it with one hand, throwing it around his shoulders like a cape and shrugging it on. Warmth faintly blooms into him, but he’s still freezing under his skin. 

They make eye-contact, Lance slants his head, raising his brows to meet his curly bangs implying bitterly for Keith to go on. 

“Ugh!” Keith groans all irate, looking woefully lost. “I am not telling you that James and I were fuck-buddies back at the dancing academy. That it was pure physical frustration. That all the nerves I had bubbling up inside of me needed a form of release and James happened to be there and was as equally gay as I am! So we...we fucked it out. Nothing more, nothing less. When we graduated, we left our separate ways never to speak again.”

All of that came out in a battled rush, Lance thinks he got at least some of it. Like the words  _ fuck-buddies _ and  _ physical frustration _ . 

The orange glow surrounding them lights up a little bit. “Look…” Keith says, throwing his phone in Lance’s face. “He has a fiancé, someone he loves,  _ deeply _ . His name is Ryan, looks like a decent guy, someone who’s not a trainwreck like me.” 

That last sentiment causes the corners of Lance’s lips to tip upwards. “You’re not a train wreck,” he enlightens, smoothing his palms along his sides. “Just a...wreck.”

“Thanks,” Keith mutters, but there’s a small wee smile tracing his fair face. 

“But I’m happy,” Lance says unexpectedly. 

Keith lights up brighter than the lamp posts, his phone. “You are?”

Believable enough, he is. For good reason, too. 

“Yeah! You re-installed your Facebook to show me that pic. That’s dedication. You went past your anxiety.” Lance slaps out a low snicker, feeling his heart growing, then deflating. “But that doesn’t explain why James kissed you,” his lips drown into a pout, his whole body sinking into the dirt. 

“Oh my fucking god... here let me show you why he wanted me to understand why I was being an imbecile. A dense asshole.” 

Lance wakes up from Keith’s shouting only to find him run those three final steps, grabbing his cheeks into his soft, warm palms then bringing his face close to him, capturing his lips with his own. 

Twin sighs climb out from the deep, deep cavern of both their chests, sucking in a long breath through their noses as they slide their lips over each other. Keith presses his lips hard against his, tipping Lance’s lips to open, throwing his tongue in there. Once he feels Keith’s tongue in his mouth, he swallows him up; that much needed, most direful surge of warmth finally covering his entire body. Inside and out.

He’s fallen and can’t get up. He’s lost in a maze made out of Keith’s plush lips. It’s impossible to take more of him right now; his lips are invincible, they’re laced with affection, with endearment, their friendship weaving together, tightening- tighter, tighter, and now it cannot rip anymore. A tether bound by their lips that can never be torn.

  
  


They’ve finally become one. 

He touches his forehead to Keith’s, breathing rigidly out through his nose, keeping his lips firmly pressed against his friend’s. Wafts of a sweet flower bed shellshocks him, and he wants to taste him anew. He dips his tongue back in, catching and sucking Keith’s tongue hard, ripping out a long, dragging moan. 

“Wh…” Words can’t compute right now, he laughs. “Why didn’t we do that sooner,” he finally says when their lips peel apart, their foreheads still touching, noses bumping idly. 

Keith laughs back. His hands fell from Lance’s cheek once they started making out, wringing them around his waist, pulling him close. Closer, closer. “Why indeed,” he breathes out in tendrilic ripples, almost losing balance.

“It feels like we’re dancing...mullet. Like how this should be.” Lance smiles against Keith’s cheek. “I’m sorry, for everything…” Keith almost replies but he shushes him gently, whispering a confession in his ear, “The day you came out as gay I wanted to grab all of you and pull you into me, kiss you silly.” 

“Then why didn’t you…” Keith finally has a turn with words, though they keep sounding out in gasping breaths while they kiss in between their conversation. 

Lance brings a hand up, pinching Keith’s rubber band and sliding his ponytail out of its hold, combing his fingers through his long, silky mane. He sighs out happily when more heavy wafts of Keith’s floral shampoo whistles into his senses. “Our friendship… I didn’t want to ruin it. And I think you had the same thoughts; same intentions as me… kissing you, or even confessing… it all seems so easy now, but-” 

“No. I get it,” Keith whispers caressingly in Lance’s ear, nipping at it, playing with him. He feels his smile elongate wonderfully on his skin. Oh, it feels so nice, so perfect. 

Peppering his cheeks with kisses, Lance starts shaking, feeling a torn prick at his ducts. 

“Lance, what’s wrong?” 

He shakes his head, resting his forehead on Keith’s shoulder. “I was just so...confused.” He lifts his head to face Keith, cupping his cheek. His other hand smooths a path along Keith’s back, feeling pinches of his vertebrates as he slides his palm up and down. “This is the first time a boy has taken my heart. I always thought I liked girls… but when I looked at you… look at you, I don’t see a boy.” 

Keith wrinkles his nose, grimacing, “Thanks?” 

“Shut up.” Lance wrinkles his nose back, grinning. “No, what I’m saying is, with you,  _ you, _ Keith Jonathan Kogane-” He leans in and steals two, three more chaste kisses, then continues, “-the boy who literally jumped into my life in the bowling alley pleading to become my underling, my apprentice. The boy who later became my best friend, who learned everything about me from the inside out, who has seen me weep, sob and slammed my fists on the walls through agonizing pain; the boy whom I made a spit-pact with that we would both become professional dancers, dance together and one day get married at 40 if we were still single-”

God, why is this so hard? He’s crying; wet race tracks of tears have started sliding down his cheeks, tastes of salt mingling with his tongue, and he can see a nice glaze running across the indigo in Keith’s eyes, too.

His fingers dig back into Keith’s hair, shaping the back of his head with his palm to drag him forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “I wouldn’t care if you were a girl, a boy, non-binary, trans, genderfluid, or an alien for all I care-” He angles his head down, closing his eyes first to fully take it all in, grasp that Keith is here, in his arms, that they’ve kissed at long, long last. Then he says, “All I see when I see you, is you, and that’s more than enough. That’s all I need. And...I hope I’m enough for you.” 

A fist connects with his chest, hard. “Ow..” Lance puts a hand on the sore spot and starts shaking his head looking fairly surprised. 

“Lance.” Keith cradles out through a wet, choking sob. Oh no, he’s ugly crying. “You’re more than enough, you asshole,” he throws his fist out again, but Lance knows him enough to deflect it this time, copping it once it extends and pulls the boy into his chest. 

“More than enough,” Keith repeats all muffled, face rubbing against Lance’s chest. 

Everything in their vicinity fades to black, a strobe of light encapsulating them, and only them. Lance circles his hands around Keith’s waist, feeling Keith mimicking him, and they pull close- as close as ever before, and begin to sway. 

“I like this dance…” Keith hums into his throat. 

Lance smiles, “Me too, mullet.” 


	28. Chapter 28

With the sound of the wind rustling through Lance’s open window, his drapes drifting idly from the floor, the sun strobing its rays lighting up the room entirely, Keith felt that it was like waking up into a new dream. 

Well… the dream vanished the second Lance’s alarm blares them wide awake with a high-pitched whine. 

He takes back what he said before.

“ _ With a taste of your lips, I’m on a ride. _ ” Lance’s lips drag along the bone of Keith’s cheek, his voice equally pitchy to resemble Ms. Spears’. 

Keith lifts a shoulder to shield Lance’s playful lips giggling into his fluffy pillow, screeching, “Lance! Stop!” then smacks him with said pillow he burrowed into. 

“Oof..” grunts Lance, his voice still running a marathon, turning muffled under the large, fluffy pillow. 

Lifting the pillow tentatively, scared the blue devil is planning to spring him with more of his ear-splitting vocals, Keith arches a brow carefully simultaneously as the pillow reveals Lance’s gorgeous, tan face. 

“BOO!” Lance glomps Keith, cackling into Keith’s chest as Lance’s arms wrap tightly around his waist, dragging all of him to cover all of Lance’s front. His lips find refuge on his forehead, a low hum of satisfaction escaping Keith. 

If every morning was going to be like this, Keith would have grown a pair and confessed forever ago. Because, honestly, this is what heaven looks like. “Hey, you,” says Keith, his voice spilling with all the contained affection he had for his best friend, and finally letting it all out as he slides his lips over Lance’s. 

A surprised long moan coaxes from Lance's throat causing every single string of endearment in Keith to rise in temperature. Keith moans in return, deepening their kiss. His tongue traces the top of Lance’s lip, asking for permission to open up and enter. Lance does as urgently proposed opening his mouth wholly to devour Keith’s tongue and twirl it into a loving dance with his own tongue. 

It goes on for a while, their bodies meshing together, hot and sweaty. As they continue their dance in bed, suddenly Keith feels Lance’s fingers begin to find the band of his boxers. His whole body freezes. “Sorry.” murmurs Lance apologetically. “Too fast, I know.” 

Keith shakes his head rapidly. “No, no, no, no, no...” he shuts his mouth, smiling a small smile. “No. Lance. It’s not that.” 

Definitely not that. 

It’s been  _ forever  _ since Keith has done  _ tha _ t with someone, and he very much does want to do it with Lance. Very, very much. But it’s not the right time and… place. 

“Adam… and Shiro.” Keith bites his lip, feeling slightly flushed in his cheeks. Could be from their heavy make-out session, but also the thought of any of Lance’s uncles barging into Lance’s room unannounced, is very likely to happen. No, it’s bound to happen. 

Silence. Then.  _ Toxic _ starts playing again with the highest volume set on Lance’s phone. Lance starts sliding to his side of the bed to reach for his phone at the same moment that his door-as expectedly on cue- barges open. 

“TURN THAT GOD AWFUL SONG OFF, LANCE!” Adam fires at his nephew, his hand gripping the door knob and standing with an untamable wildfire blazing behind his glasses. 

Thank the gods of all the realms that he didn’t barge in when Lance’s lips were locked with Keith’s. Or worse, when his fingers were curled around the band of his boxers. Had they been somewhere else where a certain hot-headed tío wouldn’t disrupt a time of much needed-very much deprived-intimacy, Keith would be all over Lance. 

And yet. 

Lance fires back, “WELL, SORRY THAT YOU HAVE AWFUL TASTE IN MUSIC!”

“I DON’T HAVE AWFUL TASTE IN- YOU’RE JUST TOO SLOW TO GATHER WHAT GOOD TASTE CONSISTS OF!” 

Keeping his face blank, and trying hard to sustain a laugh from how offended and taken aback Lance looks, Keith pretends that Lance’s airpods are plugged in his ears, ignoring the common dispute that usually happens in the morning between these two cavemen. 

“Keith, back me up here.” Lance is seconds from kissing Keith’s cheek for emotional support, but Keith slides his eyes to him, piercing him with a horrified look.  _ Not yet.  _

Inching back a hair, Lance smacks his lips. “Aside from listening to Britney Spears… Lance’s music taste is…” Keith starts, catching Lance’s brows raised in anticipation; Adam’s head angled with equal engrossment; though he’s not expecting a truthful answer. 

Huffing out, Keith says, “Tolerable.” 

That gains a sharp laugh from Adam. He aims a finger gun at Keith, “Good answer. Breakfast’s almost ready.” The door closes with a soft thud. 

A long breath he didn’t know he was holding rides out of Keith. 

“Damn, that felt like an episode of _ Law and Order.” _

Lance isn’t paying attention to Keith. Instead  _ Toxic  _ pops on again from where it left off from his phone’s speakers -probably out of spite for his tío-, though not as amped up before the sudden showdown that went on a few moments ago. 

“You always gotta provoke him like that?” Keith asks. 

Bobbing his head in tandem with the song, two corners of peachily plumped lips curl. “Course,” is all Lance says with a mischievous glint in his blue eyes, like it’s the obvious answer. 

His voice cuts through the music and the birds' subtle song from the window, singing the lyrics in that whiny voice again. Keith sighs out tenderly, creeping his arms around Lance’s waist, his best friend’s scorching body heat searing into his arms, his chest. Everything goes tingly inside Keith and it sends his lips to the sky. Keith buries his head in the junction of Lance’s neck, rubbing it side to side hoping it would tickle him. 

“Babe!” Lance laughs the word. 

Keith shoots his face up to meet with an ocean wave, looking overtly flabbergasted. 

“What’s with the shocked look?” splutters Lance, looking somewhat abashed by the way Keith is staring at him in bewilderment. 

It’s just that. Once the pet name escaped him, everything became real to Keith. His heart is tap dancing sending a growth of warmth into all of his limbs like a flower were blossoming for the first time come spring. He spreads his lips into a wide toothy grin. Places four fingers on Lance’s cut jaw pulling him close to his lips. 

Leaning in, Keith breathes over the top of Lance’s lips, his eyes scanning how defined they are. Bowed perfectly and looking deliciously tempting. Keith closes the gap once more, sucking in his lips with his breath, tasting him. 

When they part, Keith puts on a drunken smile. “Say that again,” he commands Lance, implying what he said before their tasty kiss. 

Lance cracks into a cheeky grin, “Nope.” 

“Why?” Keith’s whole face falls, a large pout emerging from his bottom lip. 

Pink dusts across Lance’s freckles. “ _ Damn _ , you look so cute…” He leans in, his upturned nose caressing Keith’s cheek, his scar, flowing his tenderness into it. “-babe,” he whispers, pressing his lips firm and lingering to Keith’s cheek. 

“Mmm, I wish we could stay in bed all day.” Keith sighs out, opening the covers, ready to hop out of the bed and eat breakfast. 

He feels a hand gripping his wrist. Craning his neck, he spots Lance, his thumb gently stroking it. A warm, lovely pull at the corner of his lip, revealing a cute dimple. “Me too.” Lance tips his eyes up to meet with Keith’s. 

Blue. Blue. Blue. 

Keith wants to marry that color one day. 

One day. 

That day will come. 

But first. 

They have other things to get through. 

  
  


***

Last night was like he was awake in a dream. 

Awake and alive in one of the dreams he’s been having consecutively ever since Keith came back into his life. 

Except it wasn’t a dream. Their lips warm against each other. Wet. Pressing. Meeting new parts of his best friend's body. Sliding his lips over his long neck, pressing a soft kiss on it. Sucking it bruised. His chest hard; pecs sculpted; nipples pebbled once when his tongue glided over the sensitive area. Oh and the low, strained whine that bubbled out of Keith, it had Lance aching everywhere. 

They didn’t go further. Only lips on skin and nowhere else. Nowhere beneath a cloth of red boxers. Guess they were both scared waking up a certain someone. If Adam had walked in on them having… 

Yeah, no.

Not that he thinks Adam’s going to be mad once he learns that him and Keith are… what are they now exactly? They hadn’t established that last night. Once Keith ran into him with his lips after their argument, they hauled ass back home to make-out until the sun came up. 

Needless to say, his eyes are bloodshot, definitely has a pair of dark rings under his eyes. But looking at Keith smiling so cute, writhing in bed entangled in Lance’s arms was all worth losing sleep. 

He hears water running from the bathroom. Lance darts his eyes to the wet room. The door is unlocked. Does he dare? One foot meets the floor, then the other. He stands. A gulp, his warm spit waterfalling down his tight throat. 

Walking closer and closer to the door, Lance hovers a hand over the knob, but reconsiders and curls his hand into a weak fist. Then he hovers it inches away from the door itself. Why is he suddenly getting so nervous? Is it because if he knocks and Keith welcomes him inside he’ll get to see him. All of him. All. Of. Him. 

Lance knocks. Twice. Two times his knuckles make contact with the door. 

“Yeah?” He hears Keith’s voice from the shower. 

But the water stops running. “Lance? What is it?” 

“Uh-” Lance hedges, suddenly feeling like he’s swallowing a tub made of magma. 

“Lance?” Keith drags his name out in a low dark voice. 

_ Woah.  _ He did not know that Keith could alter his voice like that. And yes, Lance likes it. 

“Can I-” Damn, he’s grown so small. “-join you?” he zips out full speed ahead. 

At first he hears no reply. Granted, this might be a little too forward when they just kissed for the first time last night and Keith didn’t want to go that far yet in his bed and all. God, what was Lance thinking asking to join him in the shower, like that’s just as bad as wanting to- 

The door opens, Keith has a towel wrapped around his waist. Water is dripping from his long, black hair, the rest of his skin either damp or has small droplets of water sliding down his fair skin. 

Another hard gulp. 

Keith looks past Lance at the door, then darts his indigo eyes back to him. “Do we have time?” 

“We don’t have to do anything that takes time. Just shower… together.” Lance suggests. 

The door slides open wider. “We gotta be quick or else Adam might come in complaining about you’re terrible at being on time, too.” 

“He already knows how terrible I am at that, not that he needs to rub it in more. I’m sure they can wait five more minutes.” 

His heart starts pumping fast as the crack of lighting slamming the earth when he steps into the wet room with Keith. He closely observes every rising bump on Keith’s body while he leans over the tub to turn the knob for the water to spritz out again. An abundance of bottle rockets go off in his chest once Keith rises to face him. 

Splashed red, Keith goes shy all of sudden and Lance is teetering over to strip. Not that he has much to strip, just his boxers. Keith still has his towel wrapped around his waist, and they both have become aware that they get to see each other naked. 

“I get to see it, Keith.” 

“Shut up, I get to see yours, too, idiot.” he smiles. 

Lance takes one long step forward, a breath’s space away from Keith’s body. “I want to kiss you,” he says low, “I want to kiss your wet body while water rains down on us like we’re in a romantic movie. I want to grab on to you- keep you close to me. Pull you in.” 

Within the next ten seconds they do just that. 

“We need to turn off the water, Lance,” Keith says breathless, head punctured between his neck and shoulder and leaning against his hard body, his hard-, “It’s been close to five minutes, Adam and Shiro-”

“Fuck them. We’ll just tell them about us,” Lance shoots back, turning him and capturing Keith’s lips, digging his teeth over the soft pillow of his bottom lip, a low moan escaping him. “I want you…" he whimpers needily, "- need you.” 

“Later,” Keith hisses out, his body tensing against Lance’s. 

The water stops showering their bodies. “We shouldn’t tell them.” Keith surprises Lance. 

“Why?” Lance replies incredulous. 

A towel slaps his chest, trapping it with his hand. Keith starts getting dressed once he’s dried. Boy is quick. 

“Because… I’m afraid Adam will give us a long-ass lecture on how us being a thing can cause our dancing to go.. erratic. Problematic.” 

“I don’t understand.” Lance furrows his brows, drying his damp skin. “How can our dance routines go erratic? Isn’t it just a good thing that we’re…” 

Again, what were they? 

He swallows, shaking his head. “I think this is a good thing. This will just let our dances grow more. Develop into something stabilizing. That we trust each other more. Can count on each other. Make us better partners.” Grabbing the hem of his t-shirt letting it roll down his stomach, he curls his arms around Keith’s neck, staring at their reflection through the steamed mirror. 

They can hardly see themselves, just clouded versions of them staring back with contented smiles gracing their faces. Lance plants his lips to Keith’s cheek, feeling the corner of his smile reach his lips. “Don’t you agree?” 

Keith turns around, leaning against the sink, a hand tugging at the deep point of Lance's v-neck, pulling him down to meet him again. It’s so hard to keep their lips away from each other now that they know they can do this all the time. Maybe Keith had a point. Kissing could become a distraction. 

Albeit, Keith had always been a distraction this whole time. What’s a kiss entering the game going to affect? Lance already goes off balance when he witnesses Keith’s amazing dancing, his talent threatening to cause landslides. 

“Hell yeah, I agree,” Keith cuts in with dedication to his voice, then grows into a husky whisper, the lust dripping from his lips thrumming when he tells Lance, “We make a good team.” And their lips meet one more time. 

At the breakfast table, Lance sees Keith feign any resignation from handing loving stares at Lance. He can admit, his whole body feels like combusting not being given any of those sweet looks by him, but it is to deliberately keep his uncles' assumptions elsewhere. 

“You two should take the day off.” Shiro whips into the conversation around the breakfast table. 

Adam’s jaw unhinges, the hazel in his eyes growing deathly intense. “They deserve  _ one _ day off, don’t you think, honey?” Shiro pulsingly narrows his steel eyes at his husband. 

_ Oooh, hard to deflect this one, ey tío? _ Where’s the popcorn when you direly need it? Keith might be thinking the same thing, an amusing light shining in his eyes when they rest on Lance’s. 

_ Don’t go soft. Don’t go soft. And do not sigh like a sap in love.  _

_ Even if you are just that.  _

“Fine. The two love birds can have this day off,” Adam grumbles, then shoots a finger at Lance then at Keith; it happens so fast Lance didn’t register what actually fell out of his tío’s mouth. “Got it? Only today. We don’t have much time left before the duo comp skids in.” 

“Did you just call us lovebirds?” Lance asks, grinding his teeth gently, gingerly grabbing the handle of his tea cup and taking a sip waiting for Adam to answer.

Shiro does the answering.,'“You guys aren’t exactly subtle.” He snickers, also pointing to Keith's exposed bruised neck. 

Shoot. They both totally forgot about  _ that _ . To be fair, he was sure that would have magically dissolved in the shower. 

“Downright loud ass blockheads,” Adam flatlines, pounding his miso soup bowl on the table, some of it sloshing out.

Lance opens his mouth, then closes it. He opens it again. “So what you’re saying is…” 

Shiro’s smile is so teasingly pulled, and Adam looks like he wants to jab a hand down Lance’s throat and pull out his esophagus and tie it into a bow. 

“Pretty sure they know about us,” Keith says downright, a hand on his neck. 

“You don’t say,” Adam replies mockingly. “Specially when you knock over everything in your path to your room. I can’t understand how you managed to knock _ everything _ down. It was like hurricane Katrina visited us this morning.” 

“You heard that?!” 

“Of course we heard! Our room isn’t that far away from the hall! Not only that-” Adam slides an exasperated hand over his glasses-less face. “You need to learn to shut your big mouth, or dial it down when you shout ‘I can’t believe we’re kissing!’” 

Keith’s face resembles a fire hydrant. Lance doesn’t want to think about what color he’s projecting. But he does feel an explosion has gone off on his ears, his jaw, neck- practically all of him is burning up by embarrassment. 

“We _ tried _ to be quiet,” Lance reasons, his shoulders meeting his burning ears. 

That steals a loud bellow out of Shiro, “You did not. You guys probably forgot we even existed-” 

“Whatever the case,” Adam claps his chopsticks, “the cat’s out of the bag now-” 

“Finally…” Shiro interjects, winking at Lance and Keith. 

“Tak-” Adam glares at his husband to stop coddling them, but he only leans in to seed a kiss on Adam’s cheek. 

Who’s the one colored disconcerted now?

“Tak!” Shiro nuzzles into Adam’s neck, he sighs out and claps his chopsticks again for attention. “I won’t lecture the two of you right now. As your coach I’ll allow you this day off, though I want to revoke it since you trashed our hallway. But as your tío, I want you two newly weds to enjoy your first day as a couple by having some free time. Don’t think about the comp today, go somewhere on Keith’s list. Enjoy yourselves.” 

“And if you’re going to enjoy yourselves a little too much, then don’t come back home.” 

“Tak!”

“What, they’re grown boys. You want us to give them the condom talk-” 

“Enough!” Lance whips his hands out, fingers spread flexed, face still wildly flushed and sporting a look for his two uncles to just  _ shut up. _

Next to him, he sees Keith is snickering and scooches closer to Lance so their hips collide. 

Yep, they’re not coming home tonight. 

  
  


***

Keith can’t keep his jaw closed. Eyes wide and feeling like a tiny ant, he’s mesmerized by the sheer greatness the statue in front of him is. 

“Holy shit, the Gundam’s huge!” he exclaims loudly for every person and tourist in their radius to hear him. At that, his face feels suddenly a little flushed. 

Lance inches in, his voice growing somewhat smug- which is expected-, “That’s what he said, babe.”

Okay, make that alot flushed. 

“Shut up,” Keith says with a cute smile, Lance's stupidly lean voice gifting him butterflies to flap like crazy in his stomach.

“Make me,” he hears Lance reply seductively, tickling the hot skin of his ear. 

Keith turns to face his… what are they again? Well, his  _ something _ and returns with his own version of a smooth voice, “Alright.” Then takes his thumb and index-finger to capture Lance’s chin and pull him in for a breathless kiss. 

Their lips mingle for a while, which is a while more than necessary for some PDAing outside a famous tourist attraction, but Keith just can’t enough of the feeling of Lance’s lips on top of his. He feels too good. Lips so soft, tasting like he bathed them in pure honey, even if he knows it’s his honey-flavoured lip butter that has him humming for a longer taste of him when Lance starts humming back for them to part ways. But Keith refuses. All he does is sound off a cranky  _ nuh-huh _ and takes a quick nibble of Lance’s lower lip before releasing him. 

“Damn, had I known you’d be this needy, we should have stayed home,” Lance says with a happy snicker, circling his arm around Keith’s waist so their hips bump hard into each other. 

Keith side-eyes him under a flutter of batting lashes pulling out his phone and searching for information about the Gundam statue. 

“Let’s see, it says here that-” 

Yanking his phone out of his hand, Keith almost flings a series of offended squawks Lance’s way, but his fire is extinguished once Lance presses his lips to his cheek. “Honestly, Keith. I’m heartbroken.” 

All of Keith’s being plummets. Heartbroken? His look of despair has Lance silently giggling, waving the phone in his face, pressing the button so it fades to black. Keith sees his reflection of mirrored dread in the black screen. “I’ll be your guide for today’s excursion. Seriously, though, you should have a little more faith in your best friend who’s lived in Japan for the past two years.”

_ Touché _ , Keith thinks, taken a smidge aback that he hadn't resolved to the fact that could have asked Lance for trivia about Odaiba and the various well-known attractions it has to offer. “Sorry,” he says with some penance lacing his voice.

Lance clicks his tongue at him while shaking his head, but that blinding smile is kept peeled all perfectly tracing his bronze skin. 

“No worries, you rely too much on books anyways.”

“Oh, says the hardcore sci-fi nerd.”

“Hey! Those are works of genius fiction and should not have any smack slapped on them. Now-” he hands Keith his phone back looking pensive and keeping his gaze fixed on him as Keith rolls his eyes teasingly sliding his phone back into his leather jacket pocket. 

“Aight, share me your profound knowledge, babe.” Again, his whole face floods in heat once he spills out the pet-name unconsciously. 

But calling Lance babe feels really good. It has his whole body skipping on its own, urging all of his bodily nerves to start dancing their routines. Speaking of routines, it’s two weeks until the comp. TWO. WEEKS. That is two weeks too close than it ever has been before. Those butterflies he felt earlier start chomping haphazardly at his insides now. Leave some left for Keith to be able to function later, please. Specially later tonight.

He's gonna need all the butterflies in existance to keep him alive later tonight.

While Lance chatters away about the Gundam statue; when it was built, how it was replaced with a newer model; the unicorn Gundam, and that its horns morph into the single unicorn horn every third hour. 

Lance's pretty mouth continues to chatter off all animatedly until his mouth stops talking catching Keith off guard. That smug face emerges on his face, “What’s with the sappy look, mullet?” he asks but he knows very well the answer to that. 

Releasing a sharp breath, Keith tip-toes his fingers along Lance’s shoulder, along the dip feeling cheek-bone, then he flicks at his upturned nose unexpectedly catching him flinching and stealing a new kiss from him. Once again, the warm, soft touch of Lance’s lips on his has his feet tapping. His heart is palpitating but the good kind, the kind that he never wants this feeling to go away. 

Never. 

Warmth embraces more than his lips as he feels Lance grab hold of his entire body and pull him close into him; into a boyfriendery hug. Tight. Chaotically full of affection. Full of  _ everything _ that Lance has to offer. And that’s a fucking lot. 

As their lips part - sadly - Keith hears a gaggle of school girls in uniform giggle behind them and the Japanese word,  _ kareshi,  _ leave them like a ripple effect. 

After taking selfies in front of the Gundam, they make their way into the humongous mall where its situated in front of to go do some shopping, or, window shopping as Keith isn’t much of a shop-to-you-drop kind of person. Unlike Lance, who loves to waste money on odd cherishable knick-knacks. 

“Hey, Lance.” Keith gathers his blue gaze reflecting on him with a questioning expression. He’s all ears, it seems. “What does… uhm-” Like, he sort of already knows the answer, but getting this out in the open would be a nice ice-breaker so that they can go on from there. 

His throat is clogging up with nerves. Not that he doesn’t want to define their relationship. It’s just a little nerve wracking actually have come this far with the boy he’s been pining for God knows how long.

To be quite frank, Keith doesn’t know how long he’s like liked Lance. He does know that Lance has had this permanent parking spot in his heart. Either it was because they both has this common love for dancing - definitely not because he loved Star Wars more than your average fanboy - but he knew there was another reason to why Lance meant so much to him. 

And, finally, he understands why. Just took him forever to figure that out. 

_ You’re kinda slow, Keith… _

_ You don’t say,  _ he confided inwardly with his brain. Said brain-fart caused him to completely track off what it was he wanted to ask Lance. 

Before he could go on, they had stopped in front of some kind of high-end fashion store that looked way out of Keith’s fashion senses. 

“Hold that thought, babe. I’m just gonna stroll in here for, like, two minutes. Can you survive without me for that long?” Lance asks as he dances to the song playing from the mall’s speakers. 

Keith purses his lips to the side, raising his brows. “Depends. I hardly can survive when you’re dancing on the other side of our practice room,” he jokes. Sort of. Kind of. Not really. 

Knowing how livid the world around him becomes dancing with Lance, he can't imagine going solo again.

“That’s the spirit. Two minutes.” Lance claps his cheek while his other hand holds up two fingers like he’s making a peace sign and scampers like a little kid given money into the store. 

A nice time to check his phone. He scrolls through his Instagram, because, well, he finally logged back into it after years of staying anxiously logged out. Lance convinced last night to get back online. Get back online for realz. Yes, he said it with a z at the end. So, for realz, Keith is back and on track with all of his social medias. Though it still has his head spinning faster than his own pirouettes going through what the world is up to. 

“I’m back! And you’re still standing,” Lance cheers and kisses Keith. 

He ascends from the kiss, loving this newly wed feeling. “What’d you get?” he asks, pointing to the small bag dangling from Lance’s hand. 

Swiping it out of reach, Lance says hushly with a secretive tone, “For me to know and you to find out, mullet.” He boops his nose with the pad of his index-finger. 

For him to find out, ey?

“Let me see!” He pounces Lance in the middle of the large walking floors in the mall. 

Lance screeches holding the bag in the air and still out of Keith’s reach. “Mullet! No! I want to give it to you later, okay?!” 

“You promise?” 

Surprises.  _ Gag _ . Keith hates surprises, but this gift is from Lance, so it has to be something good. God, that just makes things worse. Keith usually knows how to wield his patience, but right now- “I wanna see it now!” He hops up at an attempt to snatch the bag with his sleight of hand skill but Lance’s palm suddenly chucks him smack in the face. 

“Oof!”

Worn from his attempt, Keith decides to leer at Lance as he regains his composure. This isn’t over. Lance just leers back at him with a look of endearment. “Hungry?” Is all that falls out of that peachy mouth.

Food. Yeah, Keith can do food. He did work up an appetite after all. 

“Dude, this place is awesome!” Keith, again, is mesmerized. “How did you know about this place?” 

He points to the rooftop skatepark outside their window next to their table. Lance reads the menu, some drool running down the corner of his lip. Tacos were one of his favorite dishes. Well, food in general was one of Lance’s favorite dishes. Besides his potential boyfriend, Keith hopes. 

Lance’s eyes tip up from the menu, the hues of blue looking like a painting of the sky; the constant sight of those eyes keeps Keith off his toes, “Adam brought me here when I first arrived to Japan. He said it was where he proposed to Shiro.” 

“At a taco restaurant?” 

“No. On the skatepark.” Lance points to the tallest ramp. “On the top of that ramp, at night, you get the most magnificent view of Odaiba. The colorful ferris wheel and Venus Fort glow up brilliantly… and the fireworks during the festivals-” His face merges into a dreamy state then shifts to something more stern, inviting, “I’m not planning on proposing here, but I wanted us to maybe dance a routine-” 

Now Keith points to the skatepark, his brows furrowing. “On the skatepark?” 

“Yes!” Lance nods vigorously. 

Sounded really adventurous to be honest. “Sure,” Keith replies with a soft smile. 

Something starts beeping like it’s being murdered on their table, “Food’s up!” 

Lance comes back with their orders and it all smells divine. Wafts of melted cheese, spicy salsa, guac- all the guac, Keith lives for guac - and beef and chicken has now Keith’s mouth watering. 

“Fuck, this is delicious,” Keith moans through a mouthful of quesadillas, “Hats off to the chef.” 

Too lost in his giant bean burrito, Lance just replies with an equal satisfied moan that causes a stir in Keith’s stomach. No. It sends a flare to his abdomen. He swallows roughly. 

“Yo. Before we go dancing, I need to ask you something…” Keith’s voice came out a little more puffy and flitting than he wanted but it gained a full Cuban boy. 

Mouth too stuffed with bean burrito, Keith had to swallow his upcoming laugh, “ _ Kareshi _ -” he pronounced, he bet, with that choppy american accent, but Lance got the message his endless blue eyes reflecting the ceiling lights with recognition. 

He allows Lance to swallow his bite first, sipping at his green melon soda. A loud filling exhale escapes him as his lips twirl into a cute smile. “ _ Kareshi _ -” Lance repeats in perfect Japanese, like the local he’s been for the past two years. 

Like a flower slowly blooming to warm sunlight, Lance’s hand feels nice on top of Keith’s. His fingers curl around the side of his hand, and they meet gazes, the people around them minding their own business too busy chomping down on their delicious Mexican delicacies. 

“I’ll tell you what it means after we do a little dance.” He winks. 

_ All’s fair in love and war, _ Keith thinks, taking the challenge. 

***

Sure, Keith can easily whip out his phone and search the word. But Lance has a gut-feeling that he already knows what it means. 

_ Kareshi _

_ Kareshi _

_ Kareshi _

He wants it. Keith might want it too since he had to mention it during their Mexican fiesta. As they finish up their meals, he catches a glance at Keith, his mouth stuffed with his quesadillas, a cute smile striking his heart ten fold. 

_ Kareshi _

_ Kareshi _

_ Kareshi _

Damn, it’s as easy as 1,2,3- just tell him you want to be his boyfriend. He might even say yes. 

But first things first. Dancing. 

Dancing in this skatepark has been something on Lance’s Japan bucket list ever since he planted his two big feet on the beautiful soils of this country. However, there is still the matter of having permission to dance on the skatepark. 

They both waver by the door that gives them access into the skatepark. Behind them is a counter with a stylish looking Japanese guy. His hair is crazy, sticking up in every angle; he even has tattoos which is rare for a local to have. Usually. But tattoos have become more and more common with the younger generation. 

Lance shares a quick look with Keith, then winks. Skidding on his heel he trudges to the counter and asks the stylish guy if the skatepark is open and in need of business. He understands Lance’s English perfectly, answering in his own perfect English catching Lance off guard, pleasantly off guard. He loves when locals can speak English. Japanese was just too damn hard to learn. 

“Yeah, the park’s open,” the guys informs, moving his head to the side to catch the ghost town on the other side of the windows. “But it’s kind of cold outside and it might rain.” 

What’s a little rain gonna stop them? Lance waves off the hazard. “Is all cool, we’re not here to skate…” 

The man cocks a black brow, “No?” 

“Nope!” Lance smiles brightly, pointing a finger at Keith. “We wanna dance. If it’s okay with you?” 

It’s like the guy has never been suggested anything other than skating before, to which should go down in a skatepark. But it seems Lance has piqued his interest, a tug at the corner of his mouth. Very eye-catchingly, to Lance’s perception, it seems the guy loves music given from his half-sleeve tattoo of different instruments and music notes wrapping around his forearm all beautifully done. 

He nods his head to the door, “Go right ahead. I’ll make sure no one else interrupts your dancing, but fair warning-” 

Lance’s stomach pools oddly at the sentiment, but the guy reassures him with a soft grin that it’s nothing bad. “You will be gaining an audience.” His face swings to the connecting restaurant entrance that is filled with hungry customers. 

Right, the skate park is pretty much their only view as they eat. That means if they dance in the skatepark, they’re all going to put their focus on the duo. Not that it stirs anything in Lance’s gut, but Keith on the other hand. 

He locks his blue eyes on Keith’s indigo ones, and surprisingly, he’s smiling ear to ear. What a shift in character, Lance thinks. Keith is ready as can ever be. He even looks eager and impatient to get out there and dance with Lance. 

“You coming, the guy gave us his blessing,” Keith prompts, nodding a grateful thanks at the guy. He nods back, winking at Keith. 

Oof, was that an attempt at flirting? Not on Lance’s watch. “Enjoy the show, man. My  _ kareshi _ and I are gonna bring the roof down.” 

There’s a glint of tease in the guy’s dark eyes like he read Lance loud and clear, backing off. But, of course, he remarks as Lance opens the door while Keith is already outside checking out the skatepark, “There’s not exactly any more roof to bring down. But I’m prepared.” 

Challenge accepted, Lance smirks back, leaving the door to close behind him. 

“What was that about?” Keith asks, shrugging his leather jack off and throwing it close to an edge. 

The skate park is relatively large. Not like the ones in America, but this one is built on the roof of a mall, in a far away corner that is impossible to locate unless you read the maps inside the shopping area. 

Shaking his head, Lance says, “It was nothing important.” 

Keith gives him a curt look, “You jealous, Lancey? I saw him give me a cute wink.” A giggles follows suit while Lance guffaws at Keith’s observational skills. 

“It was nothing, mullet. Let’s just dance!” He flings his phone out, feeling his lips curl into a ghost of a smile. 

He’s wondering if Keith heard him call him his kareshi. If anything, the cat will be out of the bag soon. He wants this with Keith. So bad, it hurts. Finally, after how long he’s been pining, they’ll finally become what the stars had written for them. 

Okay, that was cheesy as fuck, but Lance feels like a big cheese at the moment. He’s drunk on love. Drunk on getting his sway on with the boy of his dreams. 

“Ready?” he asks, thumb ready to press the play button- but then he rethinks his idea, “Hold up.” 

“What is it?” Keith shouts at Lance as he sprints out of the skatepark back to the tattoo guy. 

He hands him his phone. “Can you put this on the speakers? I saw you guys have some sweet installations in the park. Let’s give our audience a real show.” 

In return, the guy just smiles punching a cord in the jack compartment of Lance’s phone. 

Lance runs back out throwing his finger at Keith to get in position while shouting, “The rules are simple, mullet. Improv dancing! When the music starts we dance as we see fit, whoever gains the most cheers from the audience afterwards wins!” 

“Why does everything have to be a competition with you?” 

“Because that’s how it always has been between you and me. Lance and Keith, neck on neck. Rivals… to lovers?” he waggles his brows playfully gaining a red tint on Keith’s pretty face. 

Keith shakes his head all abashed by Lance being so forward, but it’s clear that he’s loving this as much as Lance is. This is good practice, amazing practice actually, before the duo comp swerves around the corner. They need all the practice they can get, even on their  _ one _ day off.

Adam would be so proud. 

The speakers in every corner scratch loudly, and the music starts playing. 

“Let’s get to it, babe.” Lance winks as his teeth play with his bottom lip, swaying his head to the melody.

_ ‘All for the ‘Gram _ _   
_ _ Bitches love the ‘Gram _ _   
_ _ Oh wait shit _ _   
_ _ Brr brr _ _   
_ _ Brr, brr, brr (aye) _ _   
_ _ Skrrt, skrrt’ _

Recognition explodes on Keith’s face causing Lance to burst in a giggling fit as he lines up a few feet away from the red hooded boy. 

The smooth melody slides in as they start hopping on their feet transitioning to a cool step sequence tapping lightly to the mellow beats. Keith is already into it, like he has a routine pre-made for this song; his shoulders rolling, hips moving in small rivulets. Ah. Lance is as awestruck as usual to Keith's freestyle dancing. Dancing Keith is mesmerizing. Well, so is Keith in general, but there’s just something about him when he gets lost into the music. 

Keith is locked to the pavement, doing some well-known very, very famous Tiktok moves. It compels Lance to jump in and read his next move. A  _ woah  _ waves in with a splash from the both of them, twin bright smiles elongated on their faces when their arms circle into a clap.

Then they spread out on in the park clapping in rhythm to the song; Lance sliding on his feet, levitating as he’s soaring up to the tallest ramp. He runs up to the top, hopping on his feet then sending one foot up into the sky, pointing his toe up as high as possible. 

Below him, the world-Odaiba-has become his oyster. He feels droplets of rain patter on the bridge of his nose, internally wishing it would all pour down on them creating that one scene from one of Keith’s favorite movies: _Step up 3_. 

Keith is still freestyling from the bottom of the ramp; popping and locking professionally now signalling for Lance to run down so he can catch him. In one of their routines, he has to catch Lance. It’s a very vulnerable moment, one that during practices always has Lance’s heart running several marathons simultaneously, because the music, the depth of their love for dance emits from them so thickly the world ceases to exist in that moment. All that exists is the two of them. The moment. Then the jump and feeling the security of Keith’s arms wrapped around his body. 

But this jump will be different. The song nears its final verse- 

_ ‘Up In _ _   
_ _ Malibu, Malibu _ _   
_ _ If you ain’t gotta foreign then she laugh at you _ _   
_ _ Malibu, Malibu _ _   
_ _ Spending daddy’s money with an attitude’ _

Not once has Lance regretted becoming a professional dancer. And peering down at the boy he’ll soon call kareshi, his heart grows a million times larger. “You better not drop me,” Lance warns from above. 

As a wanted reaction, Keith just taunts him with a quick twirl on his heels and popping and locking softly, waiting for the correct beat for Lance to run or slide down the ramp and jump into his arms. 

On cue, he does as so. He runs down the steep ramp, his feet gaining more and more acceleration. Keith backs up a few more feet. Fuck, this is farther than what they usually practice with. What is he thinking? Lance can’t leap that far; or can he? 

Everything in life is a risk. And you didn’t live unless you took a few risks. 

_ ‘All she wanna do is party all night’ _

The ball of his right foot touches the end part- or the start- of the ramp and Lance accumulates every single ounce of spring that he can harness in one foot, feeling it surge into his calf, working with his thigh- and he leaps. 

Gracefully, he feels like a beautiful antelope prancing under the monochrome sky, rain glistening his body as he feels Keith’s naked fingers grip the material of his blue sweatshirt, his arms wrapping around all of his back. 

Breathless and speaking with utter shock, Keith breathes out raggedly, “Holy shit, I was doubting we would make it. But-” 

Lance has his long legs wrapped around Keith’s waist, his arms doing the same around his neck, and glancing down at the boy who turned his life around- “You never doubted in me once, that’s why you went further back. You fucker!” Lance slaps Keith's chest affectionately, then slides his hands up to cup both sides of his handsome, yummy jawline and bring him to his lips. 

  
  


***

The music cuts once they head back inside the connecting hallway to the skatepark counter and the Mexican restaurant. 

“Are you guys, like, professional dancers?” Lance hears in an impressive tone from tattoo guy. 

Wanting to go devilishly smug, Keith slings his long, thick bangs away from his face beating Lance to the finish line, “Sure are. We’re a duo pair. We’re dancing at a comp in a few weeks. You should check it out. It’s called the Voltron…” 

Amusement took all over Lance’s instability to form words as Keith’s growing confidence has him falling more and more for him. Good for him. He’s been deserving of this confidence ever since he pounced on Lance eight years ago in the bowling alley. 

“You really hate saying that long name, dontcha?” 

Keith groans, “Every time. Why the hell does it have to be so goddamn long?” 

“Because Coran loves messing with his dancers, that’s why.” He elbows Keith. “We need to see who is crowned champion of the taco dance-a-thon.” 

“You just make that up?” 

“What, it’s better than Voltron! Legendary Defend-” 

“I get it… please,” Keith snickers as they walk to the entrance of the restaurant. 

They’re met with a loud applause of a cacophony of tourists and locals. Lance tries to explain to them their reason for the pop-up show and asks them nicely to clap for whom they liked the best, but someone cuts in- 

“Yo! That’s too hard for us to decide, you both rocked it!” 

And the rest of the restaurant cheers and hollers their approval. 

Well, that was a bust. 

They’ve made their way outside the mall walking along a path that guides them towards the next destination Lance wants to go, not telling Keith yet what it is. Yeah, he’s being very secretive today and it's obviously wrenching at Keith’s nerves. Lance is loving it, because he makes this cute scrunched up face until Lance tells him what he wants to hear. 

“Stop pouting, mullet. I’ll tell you where we’re going soon. But first we need to… decide, on, well...” 

Keith stops him, running his fingers through his hair pebbling his skin. Feels so good, don’t stop. He continues to comb through his hair, shaping his cheek with a cold hand, “I don’t care about you being so secret today, it’s honestly very exciting. But, yes, we have a few things to distinguish.” 

Nodding, Lance can feel his heart racing. 

A pair of red, plush lips meet with his. Kissing Keith has become a drug to Lance, can’t get enough. Everything Keith does to him isn’t enough, he wants more, more, more. 

“Mm, that’s nice.” Lance leans in, “One more, mullet.” He steals another kiss as people walk past them either whispering or giggling sweetly at them being disgustingly romantic. 

Keith hums, his nose brushed with Lance’s, “ _ Kareshi _ . That’s boyfriend in Japanese.” He didn’t say it as a question. Just a flat out statement. “So..” he drags on the vowel, biting his lip looking a little nervous covering flashes of indigo through a misty gray haze.

They’re standing in the middle of an open path, rain still pattering down, splashing their faces, making their clothes damp but it’s perfect. Another perfect moment. “Yes.” Lance smiles broadly, he can’t keep the corners pulled further back and it’s infuriating him, because he wants Keith to know how fucking happy he is. 

“YES! Keith.” He pulls him back into him, kissing him wildly with his lips as he keeps on repeating his answer, “Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.” 

A loud laugh erupts from Keith’s mouth, pushing Lance away from attacking him with kisses. He makes a cute face, “I didn’t get that, was it…” he angles his head so that his ear is visible, “-did you say yes, or-” 

Lance sighs out all playfully irate, shouldering Keith with his arm and starts dragging him to the place he wants to take him. 

“Where are you taking me, loverboy?” Keith asks wearing a sweet, curious smile fitting perfectly under his shoulder. 

_ To the place beyond the universe _ , he thinks. But all he does is shine a toothy grin at his boyfriend. 

  
  


***

Keith is windswept, feeling close to being backhanded by a tan deceiving hand when they reach the entrance to their next stop. “A museum?” he does a full 180 to meet with Lance wearing a bewildered frown, “A. Museum!” he repeats as an accusation like the cheeky boy before him chose this place to literally fuck with him. Especially when the blue devil himself always has to sulk whenever Keith wanted to take him to a museum. 

“Is this some kind of pull at telling me that I’m a boring boyfriend, taking us to a museum?” 

Keith walks to the sign reading the name: _teamLab_ _Borderless Museum_. It’s placed right next to the large rainbow ferris wheel, and there’s a long, long line of tourists and locals looking excited to make their way in and take a look at the mysterious museum. 

Not gonna lie, but Keith can admit that he did write this museum down on his travel list, but still, how dare Lance take him to a museum and look that happy and smug about it. Nevertheless, it’s too hard to stay that mad at him either, specially now that they’ve just established that they are hereby now… boyfriends. 

Reverberating from his long neck, a groan escapes his boyfriend, dragging his long legs next to Keith. He doesn’t look disappointed in Keith’s reaction. Quite the contrary. It’s like this was exactly the reaction he was anticipating. Talk about knowing your significant other so well. A smile curls sweetly to Keith’s lips at the thought. 

Next to him, he hears Lance say in a wistful voice, “Mullet… this is a  _ cool  _ museum. A digital museum!” he shoots back up to his long posture, towering over Keith again, angling his head all cute, and yeah, Keith just can’t stay irritated at that face, let alone feeling a tightness between his thighs at the picturesque detail of his tall, tall boyfriend. 

Damn, being able to brag to people that he has a tall boyfriend suddenly has Keith wanting to ditch this  _ cool  _ digital museum and find somewhere else- preferably, a place with a bed- where they can kill off time. Kill off time with his brand new boyfriend! 

Boyfriend. He has a boyfriend. Officially. 

God, he can’t stop chanting the word in his head. Talk about being hopelessly in love. 

_ Woah, love, going too far there maybe, Keith?  _

Sure, he can admit he does feel the flappity flap of thousands of different butterflies in his stomach when he thinks about the actual fact that him and Lance, his best friend over the course of eight whole years, is now his spanking new boyfriend. But to say that this is love? 

Well, it is, per say. 

Shaking the notion of love and what not off, Keith peers past the long line, thinking about how long it will take before they can journey on into this cool museum. Will he last? His eyes flit to Lance casually strutting, his hip punched out to the side, hand plastered on and digging those nails into his voluptuous hip. 

Keith gulps. He’s hot. Inside and out. “Mullet?” Knuckles slam carefully on his temple, shaking him out of his lustful stupor. 

“Huh? I’m queer, I mean- here…” Heat slaps his cheeks and rushes down his neck. Fuck, he’s too hot. Not just because of the seasonal heat finally taking its course to the country, or that Lance is looking undeniably scrum-dilly-umptious. But, Keith, is  _ hot _ ! 

All smooth in his voice this time, feeling the warm fan of his breath crossing his cheek, Lance whispers, “We won’t be here long. Promise.” Then he kisses Keith’s cheek. NOT. HELPING.

“Fuck. Doesn’t help when you talk like that, jerk-wad,” Keith wheezes, swatting his boyfriend away from his face. “Let’s get in line. Looks like we might be waiting awhile.” 

Lance stays put. “Lance? Come on.” 

He sighs out, the corners of his peachy, soft lips quirking, shaking his head blithely at him. Keith narrows his eyes while he feels his thick brows meeting barely in the middle. “What?” 

Holding up two tickets, Lance winks and blows a teasing kiss his way. “I pre-ordered the tickets, mullet. Come on.” 

Has Keith ever mentioned how much of a genius Lance is? No? Well, he’s not going to admit it out loud, but thank you whoever- Shrek, maybe?- for gifting him with a boyfriend with more than two brain cells, most of the time. 

Keith guffaws when he’s in step with Lance, “Your brain rewired properly today, huh?” 

“Fuck off, mullet. I had these tickets ordered a while ago. Adam has just been a sadistic prison guard these past few months so we haven’t been able to go at all.” He waves the tickets in Keith’s face wearing a pleasant grin melting all of him. “Lucky us, we were able to persuade the devil’s advocate to let us free with our disgusting, over-obvious affection for each other.” 

Affection. Not love. So he’s on guard with spewing the word, too, is all Keith gathers. 

Might it still be too soon to tell Lance that he loves him, even if it’s wholly, super-duper obvious what they’re planning to do later tonight? Don’t couples usually tell each other that they love each other before leaping onto the next big step? 

“Keith, you’re overthinking,” Lance murmurs next to him while they hand the nice Japanese man their tickets, nodding in greeting. “Stop it. Let’s enjoy ourselves. We can think long and hard about our relationship later.” 

Through and through. Is Keith that transparent? “How do you know I’m overthinking?” he accuses Lance with a small pout. 

Lance chuckles, it’s adorable; he holds his hand over his mouth as he does it, eyes crinkling keeping that beautiful blue glow hidden from the universe for a split second. “Easy. You’re so distracted. I’ve asked you, like, five times if you’ve heard of this place before.” 

“Oh. Sorry. Guess I am a little bit distracted,” Keith admits, then darts his head quickly back to meet that vibrant strobe of blue, “How did you know it was about our relationship?” 

“What is this, a pop-quiz? Honestly, what else would it be about,” he says so matter of fact not being reluctant at all about the topic, “The duo comp is pretty much in the bag. We’re gonna bring the mother fucking roof down and everyone under it. So, it has to be about our recent events. I won’t pry too much while we’re here… but-” 

Another line is formed, so they’ve placed themselves in it, waiting to get through the gates to access the museum. Lance turns around to face Keith, that smile never faltering, looking more reassuring than discouraging. Man, he wants to kiss him so bad but there are way too many people here, it might be uncomfortable for them to witness Keith’s neediness. 

Still smiling, Lance bolsters, “Listen. I’m set on us. Like, with everything. I-” Reluctance finally captures him as he swallows down what Keith believes to be the L-word. “I’m just dead fast on us lasting- for like a long, long time. You dig?” 

_ You dig _ ? Oh, sweetheart. 

Keith releases a sharp, relieved breath, smoothing a hand down Lance’s arm, “Yeah. I  _ dig _ .” 

“Cool.” Lance smiles again, those crinkles reappearing. 

Smiling back, feeling his heart skip in his chest, Keith breathes, “Cool.” 

Finally admitted into the museum, Keith sucks in a deep, deep breath preparing himself for what is to come. He hasn’t read much upon what the museum itself offers other than it’s quite different compared to other museums around the world. It’s been critically acclaimed for transferring its residents to a whole new world. Like stepping into an undiscovered galaxy. 

“Wow,” they both exhale through an impressed whisper, finding each other’s gazes as their mouths widen in exclamation.

Keith takes it all in, this new world he’s been transported to. “It’s like we’ve stepped through a wormhole.” 

“How do you know about wormholes, mullet?” 

“I know my fair share of sci-fi. Don’t worry, I need to impress my boyfriend, don’t I?” 

Warmth cradles his hand when their hands braid together and walk around in the first large room. It’s huge. Everything around them is pitch black, the walls, the ceiling, the floor; and then, light shines upon the darkness and brightens the room with digital paintings. 

Flowers first. Bursting on all the walls with beautiful, lively colors of different variants of flowers petaling away along the walls, flowing and sweeping to the floor and roof. Slapping him silly, it really is like he’s been transported to a world made up of magic and dreams. Again, if Lance heard that rolling off Keith’s tongue he’d laugh up in his face. 

“It’s like this place is made from magic and dreams.” Yeah, Keith went for it. 

Snaking his arm around him after loosening their braided fingers, Lance pulls him taut against his hip, kissing his temple in the center of the dreamscaping universe. “Sure is, mullet.” 

“What, no comeback for my sappy pull at being poetic?” 

“Nope. You’re finally understanding the pull that science fiction has on its audience.” 

“Oh, and this museum is a science fiction novel?” 

Another press of lips to his temple, his bangs get in his way feeling a tickle in his nostrils. Lance snickers against his head when he feels Keith hold back a sneeze. “It is a genre of its own kind. Glad your getting with the program, mullet.” 

He’s not indignantly wrong… it’s only been one room out of God knew how many and he feels completely, soul-sacrificing out of this world. Keith drags his lips down, nodding his head as he agrees to his boyfriend’s statement. 

Walking deeper into the museum, they’re yet again going through a rift in the universe meeting with an interactive room filled with people. Almost like the skatepark, there are dips in the floor they can walk down creating rising hills to incline. While they travel the path made of hills, the digital art spreads away once their feet connect with it.

“Pretty cool,” Keith sounds impressed, stepping everywhere there is a holographic bouquet of art, probably looking like a child, but it’s too much fun. 

Another room has these long LED streamers hanging from the roof. The whole room is flooded with these streamers, the only gap being their path they have to walk along. So as they follow the path, the streamers light up and start flickering. Like rainbow flickering lights, just like when they step onto the dance arcade machine. Keith’s whole tummy flourishes with remembrance. 

“Look, it’s like the arcade machine!” He points to how the lights flicker in bright flashing colors. 

A reminiscent hum escapes Lance, but before he says anything, the whole room darkens. Then, more lights flicker, but not as pearlescent rainbow lights- instead, stark colors in red, yellow, blue, green and purple sparkle in the darkened vacuum of space. 

Keith whispers in Lance’s ear, “It’s like we’re in space, I love it.” 

As it’s still fairly dark, aside from the colorful galactic show, Keith feels two padded fingers prop his chin up to touch his lips to Lance. “I love it, too, mullet,” he whispers in return, eskimo-kissing him before they complete the path of this exhibition. 

“So, where to next?” Keith asks, swiping his gaze left to right. 

Along the walls are animals decorated in sunflowers walking slowly yet beautifully. “This way, we’ve saved the best for last.” 

“The best?” Keith follows Lance as he speeds up his pace towards a long, long, long line of people. 

“Another line?” 

“Don’t sulk, Keith. I promise this one is worth everyone’s while.” There’s a mischievous twinkle in those blue eyes, like they’re becoming stars with the beautiful darkness around them, brightening it all up. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” 

Way to build it up, cowboy, Keith thinks. But he’ll believe the devil as best he can. So far, this experience has been amazing and he doesn’t have a single inkling to what else can top the exhibits they visited here. Wherever they’ve wandered has been a different experience. All of the rooms have withheld something new. Either projecting universal mysteries or just beautific artistry in the form of animals, flora and the wonders of the great beyond. 

The line moves and Keith notices an ever-glowing room peering his vision. “Are those?” 

“Yupp.” Lance’s golden face has gone all smug again his lips forcefully being pulled up to his ears. 

“They look like... how has the artist been able to hang up so many-” 

“Just wait, mullet!” Lance sounds giddy it has Keith’s insides jumping with his voice. 

Their line finally reaches the edge of the room. It moves along the width of the room, and they can look inside while a small group of people are admitted for a short time-slot before being shown out again. 

Keith touches his bare hands to the window. “But can’t they see us?” 

“Doesn’t seem like it. The whole room is made up of mirrors after all. Maybe these are two-way mirrors.” Lance taps the window with his knuckles, looking in as guests’ jaws hit the floor taking in the magical room. 

Finally, it’s their turn to go inside. “You ready, mullet?” 

“Ready as can ever be.” 

Frankly, Keith has never felt more in place than the moment he steps into the lantern room. All round him are lanterns glowing beautiful, heart-stopping, soft colors made up of pink and purple hues with a dash of orange raying through. Slowly the colors change into an icy cold blue matching with Lance’s eyes. 

He stares at Lance feeling like he’s been freezed into a moment lasting longer than eternity itself. Feels nice. Peaceful. “It’s-” Shit, Keith is literally speechless. Not by the room, but by the look of his boyfriend surrounded by beautiful lanterns enhancing all the beauty he already withholds. “Breathtaking.” 

Lance abducts Keith into his arms, taking a quick selfie- make that twenty- then kisses his cheek and says, “You’re breathtaking, mullet. Here.” 

The bag Lance had been holding all day after he escaped into a fashion shop and refusing to share its contents with Keith finally makes its way into his hands. “For me? You bought something for-” 

“Just open it,” Lance pushes, probably because they don’t have much time left in the lantern room and he may want this moment to be as perfect as he visualised it. 

Hastily, Keith fishes out a pair of- “Gloves? You got me…” 

Lance takes the fingerless, leather gloves and treads them smoothly over Keith’s nakes hands, kissing his fingers. “Perfect,” he says low like he's holding back a choke and stares past Keith’s gloved hand, “I hope you like them. I’ve been wanting to buy them for you since forever. And finally-” 

“Oof!” Keith tackles his boyfriend, stealing all of his face as he showers him in love. 

Around them they hear the other guests coo at them, whispering or speaking loudly about how cute they are and how much they must love each other. 

It’s true. He does love Lance. So, so much. 

On the way out of the museum, Keith reaches his gloved hands into a stream of moonlight, admiring his new addition to his body. “I love them, thank you, Lance.” He can’t keep his smile at bay, it needs to be flaunted, he needs the world to know how lucky and happy he feels. 

Inside and safely wrapped in his arms, Lance sends shivers down Keith’s spine, causing gooseflesh to materialize as he cooes words of affection in his ear. 

“We need to find a love hotel,” he hears Lance suddenly say. 

Swallowing with nevrosity, the moment has come. “You sure? Why a love hotel, what’s the difference?” 

“They’re more convenient- as is typical Japan- and they’re like right around the corner-” Lance swings Keith to meet his lips again, pushing them hard against his own. “I need…” he presses his lips even harder, sucking in the deepest breath he’s heard Lance suck in in his entire lifetime he’s been around him, “-need you now. Right now.” 

“I want to love all of you, mullet.” his voice grows heavy, his kisses harder, wetter- desperate. 

Keith says against the warm press of his boyfriend’s lips, “You sure? You’re not scared?”

“Never been more terrified in my life, but I’m ready. I want this. I want you, if you’ll have me?” 

His chest starts shaking against Lance’s body, burying his nose in his boyfriend’s collarbone, “Of course.” he says low, tipping his face up to meet with twin sparkles created by incandescence themselves, “Looks like those brain cells of yours have burnt up again to think I don’t want you. All I’ve been doing today is pine after your yummy self, you idiot.” 

Once they’ve bantered it out with laughs and soft fists to their chests, they race to the nearest love hotel, check in and-

Keith shapes the arches of Lance’s thin brown brows with the pads of his fingers, swallowing again. Both leaned against the edge of the bed, Keith exhales, “You sure you still want to do it? I’ll guarantee you it’ll hurt.” 

Better to be blunt about it than have Lance experience the pain without knowing. He notices Lance’s Adam’s apple bob at the bluntness, but his lips twerk to their own respectable corner. He nods, once, stern, “Yes. I do. Because it’s with you, Keith.” 

The softest most gentle touch of Lance caresses his hands as he peels off one glove at a time, pulling his jacket off then lifting the hem of his shirt and within minutes they tumble into the bed, entangle their bodies with the sheets like they’re dancing. 

Keith hovers over his beautiful, breath-stealing boyfriend feeling his heart lingering all over him. Oh, he’s on the brink of bursting drinking in the wonderful warm touch of him. It’s the perfect moment to tell him he loves him, but one look in the mesmerizing glow of his irises, he already knows. He knows how much Lance loves him back, feels it in the way his body moves perfectly with his own as he sinks down into him, sense the rush of his heat, the claim of his stare and greediness of his hands. All of it, all of them. 

Melting into each other, they dance in the bed all night. Bodies mingled, twirling, limbs tangling with perfect motion. They dance themselves breathless, never letting go. 

But Keith doesn’t want to let go, neither does Lance.

And so they dance like how it’s supposed to be. 

Which is with all of them.

All of them.

All of them. 


End file.
